Chapter Text
The Hogwarts Express rocks gently beneath you, steady and familiar, the hum of conversation drifting through the corridor outside your compartment. You’d thought coming early would give you time to read, maybe relax before the chaos of the first day back. Sixth year at Hogwarts feels like a lot already, and the train hasn’t even started moving.
Your compartment door slides open so abruptly you almost jump.
A boy stumbles in backward—literally backwards—dragging his trunk with one hand and muttering under his breath about being late. He doesn’t even look up, just shoves his things inside, drops them with a thud, and collapses into the seat across from you.
He exhales once, then finally lifts his head.
His eyes widen when he sees you.
“Oh—, sorry,” he says quickly, running a hand through his hair and sitting up straighter. “I… didn’t realize anyone was in this car.”
You offer a small smile. “Oh, it’s alright. Really.”
But your stomach flips. Because now that he’s looking at you, you recognize him. Cedric Diggory. Hufflepuff’s golden boy. The one with the smile everyone talks about, the one who’s always kind, always composed. Except right now—right now he’s flushed and slightly breathless and looking at you like he’s genuinely embarrassed.
“I can leave if you like,” he says, thumb rubbing nervously at the back of his neck.
“No, it’s okay,” you say quickly. Maybe too quickly. “I’m… alone in here anyway.”You laugh lightly, hoping it hides the small spark of excitement in your chest. It doesn’t.
Cedric’s mouth pulls into an awkward half-smile, and he lets out a soft laugh. “Alright then.” He shifts forward, extending a hand. “I’m Cedric, by the way.”
You take his hand—warm, calloused from Quidditch—and shake it. “I’m Y/n.”
His smile deepens, and for a moment he just holds your gaze, as if memorizing your name.
The train starts moving, and conversation comes surprisingly easy. He asks about your classes, your summer, whether you play Quidditch (“only casually,” you admit), and he tells you about the chaos at his house the night before as he tried to pack. You laugh more than you meant to, and every time he smiles—really smiles—your heart feels like it’s caught in a broom tailwind.
You don’t want the ride to end.
But eventually, the castle appears through the fogged window, torches flickering in the distance. Students start pulling their luggage from racks. Robes are straightened. Voices rise with excitement.
Cedric stands and reaches for his trunk, pausing at the door.
“Well,” he says, shifting his weight, eyes softening a little, “I’m glad I barged in here by accident.”
Your breath catches. “Yeah. Me too.”
For a moment, you both hover there—awkward, warm, hopeful.
Then the compartment door opens behind you, students pushing through, and the moment breaks. You step out into the corridor, swept into the flow of bodies. Cedric goes in the opposite direction toward the Prefects’ carriage.
Still… you look back.
And when you do, you catch him looking back at you too.
He gives you a small, shy smile before disappearing into the crowd.
And just like that, sixth year suddenly feels a lot more complicated