Jimmy Potter sat by the window on the Hogwarts Express, watching the landscape rush by in a blur of green and gold. The familiar sight of rolling hills and distant forests should have brought him some comfort, but it didn't. All he felt was an empty ache in his chest. The end of the school year had come, the petrified students—including Hermione—had been revived, and yet the biggest mystery of all remained. Harry was gone, and nobody had any answers.

Jimmy's gaze drifted to the seat across from him, where Harry should have been. His absence was like a shadow, a constant reminder of the months leading up to his disappearance. The changes in Harry hadn't been subtle, though Harry had done his best to cover them up. At first, it was small things—forgetting conversations, zoning out, and acting more distant. But as the weeks went by, Harry's behavior grew stranger, more erratic, and harder to ignore.

Jimmy thought back to the night when it became impossible to deny that something was wrong. It had been after Quidditch practice, and Harry had barely spoken the entire time. When they returned to the dormitory, Harry had immediately pulled out that diary—the one he was constantly writing in now. The sight of Harry bent over it, lost in its pages, sent a chill through Jimmy. He had tried to talk to his brother, but Harry had brushed him off, his attention fixated on the words that appeared in response to his writing.

"Harry, is everything alright?" Jimmy had asked, his voice full of concern.

Harry had looked up, a strange smile on his face that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah, just thinking. Nothing to worry about, Jimmy."

But Jimmy knew better. The way Harry's mood darkened when the diary was mentioned, the way he had snapped at Hermione when she tried to talk to him—it wasn't like his brother at all. As the days passed, it became clear to everyone that something was wrong, but no matter how hard they tried to reach him, Harry kept slipping further away.

It wasn't just the diary, though that was part of it. Harry would disappear for hours, returning with no memory of where he had been. His robes would be dirty, his hands scraped and bruised, but whenever Jimmy or Ron asked him what happened, Harry would shrug it off with excuses about wandering around the castle or getting caught up in his studies. But the tension between them all was growing, and Harry was becoming more distant by the day.

Then the attacks began.

Students were being petrified, and fear swept through the school. The rumors spread, and suspicion crept into every corner of Hogwarts. Harry tried to keep his head down, but Jimmy could see the toll it was taking. His brother wasn't just withdrawn—he was scared. The nights grew longer, and Harry's absences became more frequent. But every time they confronted him, Harry would dodge their questions, assuring them everything was fine. It wasn't.

Jimmy still remembered the day Hermione was petrified. They had found her frozen form in the hospital wing, and the sight of her lifeless expression had hit them all hard. But it was Harry's reaction that disturbed Jimmy the most. He had looked... hollow, distant, like he wasn't really there. Afterward, Harry had vanished again, only returning hours later, dirty and exhausted, with no memory of where he had been.

"Harry, you've got to stop this," Jimmy had said one evening after Harry returned from another unexplained absence. "Whatever is going on, it's not just about figuring out the attacks. You're not acting like yourself."

Harry's face had darkened, his jaw clenched. "I'm doing what I have to, Jimmy. You don't understand."

"You're scaring us," Jimmy had admitted, his voice rising in frustration. "That diary—whatever it's doing to you, it's not helping."

Harry had paused for a moment, as though considering what Jimmy had said, but then his expression had hardened. "You just have to trust me."

Jimmy's heart had sunk. He had wanted to reach his brother, to pull him back from whatever was happening, but Harry was already too far gone.

Jimmy clenched his fists as the train rattled down the tracks. After that, things only spiraled further out of control. Harry stopped talking to them, became more withdrawn, and the attacks on the students escalated. The weight of the entire school's fear seemed to press down on Harry, and yet, he still kept writing in that diary.

The day Harry disappeared, it felt like the ground had dropped out from under them all. Their parents had been called to the school, and when Professor McGonagall broke the news, Jimmy saw his mother collapse into tears. Lily had cried in James' arms, her sobs breaking the silence of the room as she clung to him. James had paced the room, trying to hold it together, but the anguish in his eyes was clear.

"I should have done more," James had said through gritted teeth. "I should have seen it coming."

"We'll find him," Sirius had insisted, his voice rough with emotion. "We'll get Harry back."

But none of their reassurances could erase the horror of that moment. Their son—Jimmy's brother—was gone, and no one knew where he had gone or how to bring him back.

Jimmy's gaze shifted to Hermione, who sat quietly beside Ron. She had been one of the last to be revived after being petrified, but the moment she heard about Harry's disappearance, she had broken down. Jimmy remembered finding her in the hospital wing, her face pale, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"He was my first friend," Hermione had whispered through her sobs. "I didn't have anyone before him."

The memory of her grief cut deep into Jimmy's heart. Hermione had always been strong, logical, but the news of Harry's vanishing had shaken her in ways he hadn't expected. She had cried for hours, guilt and fear etched into every tear, and it was clear how much Harry meant to her.

"We'll find him, Jimmy," Ron said, breaking the silence in the compartment. He leaned forward, his expression serious. "We're not giving up on him."

Hermione nodded, though her eyes were still red from crying. "He will be found. He will be okay."

Jimmy wanted to believe them. He wanted to have the same hope they carried, but every mile that passed as the train carried them home only reminded him of how empty everything felt without Harry. They might find answers eventually, but for now, all they had were memories of a brother who had been there—and then, suddenly, was gone.