As we finally cleared the bustling crowd of students dispersing from the Great Hall, Harry’s expression shifted from casual to serious, eyes sharp with a mix of frustration and curiosity. “You owe me an explanation,” he stated, voice firm but laced with an undercurrent of concern.
I crossed my arms, matching his tone with a hint of edge. “I think you’re the one who needs to explain,” I shot back, struggling to mask the sting behind my words. “I sent you two owls—two!—filled with how excited I was to be back, to see you again. And not once did you reply.” My voice rose, betraying the hurt I’d been holding in, then dwindled into a whisper as I caught the blank look on his face.
He took a tentative step forward, brows knitting in worry. “Y/n, Tucker hasn’t brought me any letters from you for months—at least a year, maybe.” His words sent a chill through me. If he hadn’t received my letters, where had they gone?
I looked away, biting back a sigh, while Harry’s gaze searched mine, understanding dawning. “I swear, I never got them,” he insisted softly, as if trying to convince himself as much as me.
We exhaled in unison and, unexpectedly, a chuckle slipped past my lips. Before I knew it, Harry’s arms enveloped me in a warm embrace, his breath tickling my ear. I let myself relax into it, clutching him tightly—the kind of comfort only family could provide.
“I still can’t believe you’re actually here, my little sister at Hogwarts,” he teased, a mischievous grin lighting his face.
I rolled my eyes, giving his shoulder a playful shove. “It’s been what? Twelve minutes? Don’t push it.”
“Well, assuming you’re not going to be insufferable, I think I’m here for good,” I shot back, a smirk tugging at my lips.
The distant murmur of departing students and fading laughter told us dinner was long over. I pouted, regret creeping in. “You really had to make me miss the feast, didn’t you?”
Harry reached out, pinching my cheeks with a grin. “Aw, sorry,” he teased, and I shoved his hand away, earning a burst of laughter from him.
“Don’t worry,” he said, nodding toward the noise ahead. “Ron’s got snacks stashed everywhere—you’ll be fine.”
I wasn’t about to argue with that. The grand Hogwarts dinner would have to wait; for now, hidden snacks would have to suffice. I silently thanked Merlin for this mysterious Ron.
As we approached the Great Hall again, the last stragglers were slipping out, their chatter softening into whispers. Harry headed toward two familiar figures waiting anxiously at the bottom of the grand staircase, their faces etched with concern.
I took a moment, studying them—sure enough, the same pair who had been with Harry when I was sorted. The red-haired boy, eyes bright despite the worry, and the brown-haired girl beside him.
“You must be Ron,” I said brightly as we reached them, extending my hand. He took it with a relieved smile, the tension in his posture easing slightly. “Weasley,” he replied.
“Harry’s told me all about you—and your secret snack stashes,” I added with a grin.
Turning to the girl, I introduced myself politely. “Y/n.”
“Hermione Granger,” she responded warmly. “And don’t worry about Ron’s snacks—we smuggled some out for you and Harry.” She winked, then joked, “Though, if I were you, I wouldn’t eat too much of Ron’s stash; who knows how old some of it is.”
Ron gave a mock glare and silently mouthed “Hey!” before nudging Hermione playfully. She rolled her eyes but laughed.
Just then, a familiar cold voice cut through our lighthearted moment. “I didn’t know you had a sister, Potter.” Draco Malfoy strolled past, his usual smirk firmly in place as he eyed me up and down with unmistakable appraisal. “And one with taste, too.”
He paused, then added slyly, “I’ve always thought Slytherin was the superior house. Maybe you’ll see it that way too, now.”
“I told you once today, Malfoy: shove off,” Ron said, tired and annoyed.
“I don’t believe I was addressing you, Weaselbee,” I shot back, the nickname earning a frustrated groan from Ron.
Harry stepped forward, eyes locked on Draco, voice low but cutting. “Why it’s any of your business is beyond me.”
The smirk on Draco’s lips only grew wider at Harry’s words. With a last suggestive wink in my direction and a satisfied smile, he sauntered off, leaving a trail of simmering tension in his wake.
My blood boiled, adrenaline sparking beneath my skin. That boy had a knack for pushing buttons, and he sure knew how to get under my skin.
✧·ﾟ: *✧·ﾟ:*✧
Later, following a stern yet polite insistence from one of the Slytherin prefects, I left Harry and his friends behind, settling into the quieter, shadowed corridors leading down to the dungeons where the Slytherin common room awaited.
The prefect stood before a solid stone wall, muttering the password with a crisp voice: “Pure-Blood.” I winced inwardly at the reminder—I wasn’t truly pure-blood, and this subtle exclusion weighed on me more than I wanted to admit.
He flicked a section of the wall open, revealing a dimly lit, cavernous common room bathed in emerald flickers from the hearth’s flames. The scent of damp stone mixed with smoky warmth surrounded me, a world apart from the lively brightness of the castle above.
Leading me through the room, the prefect gestured toward a bed in a cluster of four. “That’s yours.” I nodded in thanks and stepped inside the dormitory.
Four pairs of eyes immediately settled on me, curiosity and varying degrees of welcome shining through them.
“Y/n! There you are,” Wren greeted me with a smile as bright as the moonlight filtering in through a narrow window. “I saved you a bed right next to mine.” She pointed at the dark wooden canopy bed, the fine carvings glowing softly in the hearth’s light.
Grateful, I began unpacking my belongings near her bed. Two of the other girls offered polite smiles but made no move to engage further, which suited me just fine.
But the third—a girl seated opposite my bed—held me with a cold, unwavering glare. She didn’t return my smile; instead, her eyes pinned me down with silent challenge.
I turned abruptly, a faint smirk curving my lips as I raised one brow. The girl quickly averted her gaze, plunging herself back into conversation to mask her discomfort.
I shook my head, feeling the familiar tingle of defiance stir within me. Pulling out a piece of parchment and quill, I settled near the hearth, ready to write the letters I’d promised my friends.
Despite the day’s whirlwind, I was determined to keep that promise—to remind them, and myself, that even in this new place, my story was just beginning.