She took a deep breath,tied her hair up, and stepped off the train. This year was going to be the hardest one yet, harder even than last year. She no longer felt the magic of the magically moving carriages, very few did nowadays. The thestrals could be seen by everyone now.
She sighed as she pulled her book closer to her, looking out of the carriage window into the forbidden forest. It felt weird to be wearing her uniform again, it felt weird to be going back, it felt weird to pick up her wand and not cast a spell to hurt. It felt weird to be normal again. Pulling her eyes away from the forest she turned to her friends, her fellow house mates. Her sister, her ginger hair piled into a bun on top of her head, leant forward and gave her knee a comforting squeeze. They all knew, her friends and what remained of her class mates, that she had seen things that no-one should have seen, experienced things that people double their age shouldn't have. They also knew that she was the only year 7 slytherin prefect left.
They all had it hard, her and her sisters friends. They each had at least one place that they could never walk past again. They all had lost at least one friend to the second wizard war.
She pulled the carriage door open and reported to Flitwick.
"Name?" He looked older, if that was possible, the wrinkles around his eyes had cut deeper over the summer. Even though it had never felt like summer.
"Lydia Ravenscourt." She replied with a glance at her friends who were getting out of the carriage. Flitwick nodded and ticked her name off, gesturing for her to move aside and let the others report in. She looked at the floor as her friends signed in, calling out their names and stepping up next to her. A head of brightly dyed hair flashed in her peripheral vision, the person it belonged to caught her hand and dragged her behind them. Lydia smiled and followed behind her friend as they walked up to the castle.
"Tristan Marie Harper, wait for the rest of us." her sister called as she ran up the small hill, in an attempt to catch up to them.
"Never." Lydia smiled as her friends attempt to cheer her up started to work. There was still life in the school, there was still hope. And as long as there was hope, the school would continue.
Tristan pushed open the doors with a flick of her wand, unlocking the doors for the other students, and stepped inside as she took a deep breath. The hall was the hardest for Tristan, she'd seen her girlfriend, Angela, die there. She'd held her hand as Madame Pomfrey declared her dead. Lydia remembered it too well, she'd been there. They'd been a team, one of the few slytherins that hadn't gone to the dungeon, one of the few that had stood and fought. Lydia had seen Tristan's eyes glaze over, had seen her get up and punch the wall repeatedly until her knuckles bled. Had heard her curse and scream at night when the nightmares came and plagued her.
Lydia stepped up behind her friend and gently placed a hand on her shoulder, startling her slightly. Tristan looked at her over her shoulder, a wan smile on her lips and a tear travelling her cheek. Her eyes looked lifeless again, Lydia realised as she grabbed her friends hand and pulled her into the hallway. Tristan attempted to rebel, to break free and fall at the base of the steps and cry. Lydia didn't let her, she wanted to but she couldn't let her. She'd do the same for her, she'd have to.
"I'm sorry," she muttered as she cast a glance at her friend over her shoulder. Tristan was crying, her free hand wiping at her eyes, as she walked behind her. She stumbled as they exited the entrance hall, Lydia turned and caught her before she hit the floor. Lydia wrapped her arms around her friend as she cried, whispering into her ear as she rubbed comforting circles on her back.
"It's OK, you did it. Well done." Lydia closed her eyes as her friend leant into her shoulder, tears marring her newly ironed and donned uniform. She'd burnt her old one after the war, even after washing it uncountable times she still swore that there was blood on it. She didn't realise at the time that the blood was on her hands and not the uniform.
Opening her eyes she thought she saw blood on the tirelessly scrubbed tiles, her nightmare world and the real merging together. She stifled a scream and and blinked rapidly, trying to see the truth. Tristan pinched her hard under her ribcage, bringing her harshly back to the corridor that was now full of 2nd and 3rd years looking at them. Some of them looked on with hatred in their eyes, having been cursed by them during Snape's misunderstood, confused reign as head teacher.
Lydia stood up and pulled Tristan up with her, feeling the tickle of her cloaks hem at her knee. It reminded her of the first time she had stood inside these doors, when she was 11 years old, her cloak tickled her calf at the time. Lydia glanced at her friend and ruffled her hair as their friends caught up with them.
"You're alright." Lydia smiled though her eyes were dead, full of memories that no longer seemed possible. Their friends ran over to them, and – looking around the hall- hugged Tristan and didn't let go for a good minute. It wasn't until McGonagall walked past that they realised how long they'd been there. Lydia turned to Tristan and her sister and gestured for them and the others to start into the hall. Lydia waited for a second, re-adjusting her tie and pin before starting after them, only to stop and stumble.
Her vision flashed to nightmare as the walls became covered in blood. Her twin was sat in the middle off the hall, facing away from her. She knew what was happening but she couldn't stop it.
"Cam." her voice sounded watery, as though she was sinking and struggling against the water. He turned to face her and she saw his face, the skin burnt blistered and falling off.
She screamed.
Tristan clamped her hand over Lydia's mouth and pulled her though the hall. Past the memorial on the wall that held his wand. Past the tiles that would never be clean again, and into the great hall.
Lydia pulled herself upright and smoothed her uniform out as she strode into the room, attempting to cover the cracks in her armour with fake confidence. She noticed that the Slytherin table was almost empty, noticed how she was one of 14 in her year group, noticed how everyone was watching her as though she'd killed everyone that was now listed among the dead. Noticed how there were fewer second years on her table than in any of the other houses. She hated every second of the walk to her seat. Hated it with a passion.
And it only got worse. The first years entered the hall, awe and wonder written all over their faces, and Lydia knew that not a single one of them would want to be Slytherin. But at least a quarter of them had to, so some would be forced into the most hated house, out of duty to the school. She knew that she, as the only 7th year prefect, would have to look after them, and put up with the hated glares.
But at least people were still willing to come to the school. At least there was some hope. Some. Hogwarts would continue on, like it has done before and until it was back to normal, she and her friends would just have to put up with the glares.