The cool night air wrapped around the Hogwarts platform as the students began disembarking from the train. Gilda Harrow moved deliberately, her hood pulled up just enough to shadow her face, but not enough to hide the striking scar across her nose. Her pale green eyes locked on the thestrals waiting at the edge of the platform, and for a moment, the weight of her composure faltered.
The skeletal creatures stood silently, their leathery wings shifting in the dim light. Their hollow, black eyes were haunting yet mesmerizing, seeming to pierce straight through her. Gilda's breath caught in her chest. The sight was breathtaking in its stark reality—these creatures existed only because of what she'd done.
She's dead because of me. I took her life.
The thought was like a cold blade pressed against her ribs. She had known it, of course. Known what it meant. But this was different. Seeing the thestrals made it undeniable, unshakable, permanent.
"What are you staring at?" Pansy Parkinson asked, her voice tinged with impatience as she moved closer.
"Thestrals," Gilda said softly, her voice uncharacteristically quiet.
"What do they look like?" Blaise Zabini asked, stepping to her side, his curiosity piqued.
Gilda took a deep breath, her eyes still fixed on the creatures. "Dark. Bony. Their wings look like stretched leather. And their eyes..." She hesitated, her voice almost trembling. "Their eyes are hollow. Like they see everything but care about nothing."
The group exchanged uneasy glances, unsure how to respond to her strange tone.
"They sound hideous," Pansy muttered, stepping back slightly.
Draco Malfoy smirked, clearly uncomfortable but unwilling to let it show. "Oh, come off it, Harrow. You're acting like they're some kind of revelation. Maybe you should name one after Winnick. Seems fitting."
Blaise snorted. "Yeah, call it Goldstein. That way, she'll always be around to pull your carriage."
The laughter that followed was short-lived.
"HARROW!"
Rhys Dawlish's roar cut through the noise, drawing the attention of everyone nearby. He was storming through the crowd, his eyes blazing with fury. His friends called after him, but he ignored them, his gaze fixed solely on Gilda.
Eleanor Selwyn stepped forward, her voice calm but firm. "Rhys, don't—"
But Rhys shoved past her, sending her stumbling to the ground. The sight snapped something in Gilda. Her mask of composure shattered, and she took a step forward, her voice sharp and unyielding.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" she shouted. "You don't touch her!"
Rhys pointed his wand directly at her, his hand trembling with rage. "You don't get to stand there like you're innocent! You think this is a joke? Naming a thestral after Winnick? You killed her!"
The crowd around them stilled, students gathering in a loose circle as whispers rippled through the air.
"What are you going to do, Dawlish?" Blaise asked coolly, stepping between Rhys and Gilda. "Hex her in front of half the school? That'll go over well."
Rhys turned his glare on Blaise. "You think this is funny? You're all disgusting."
Blaise smirked, his wand already in hand. "You're taking this far too personally."
Rhys's grip on his wand tightened, his face red with fury. "You don't get to joke about her. You don't get to talk about her at all!"
Blaise flicked his wand casually. "Accio wand."
Rhys's wand flew from his hand and into Blaise's grasp before Rhys could react. "Wow, Dawlish, you let it happen to you again." Blaise inspected the wand with exaggerated interest. "Not bad. But it's seen better days."
"You can't just take someone's wand!" Hermione Granger's voice cut through the tension like a whip. She pushed her way through the crowd, her face flushed with anger. "That's beyond cruel, Zabini. Give it back!"
Blaise's smirk widened as he turned to her. "And why would I do that, Granger? Dawlish here clearly has a problem with self-control. Maybe this will teach him a lesson."
Hermione's fists clenched at her sides. "You're unbelievable. He's angry because of what you said about Winnick, and now you're humiliating him? That's vile, even for you!"
"Winnick was a competitor in a tournament," Blaise shot back, his tone mocking. "It's not my fault he can't handle the reality of the wizarding world."
"Blaise," Gilda said sharply, her voice low and trembling with restrained fury.
But Blaise ignored her. Instead, he snapped Rhys's wand cleanly in two. The crack of the wood was deafening in the hushed crowd.
The circle erupted into gasps, and Rhys lunged forward, only to be held back by his friends. His face twisted with fury, his voice cracking as he shouted, "You're all monsters!"
Blaise tossed the broken pieces to the ground at Rhys's feet. "Actions have consequences, Dawlish," he said, his tone cold and dismissive. "Maybe next time, think before you act."
Hermione stepped forward, her face pale with fury. "You're no better than him, Zabini. You think breaking his wand makes you clever? All it does is show everyone how terrible you really are."
Blaise raised an eyebrow, unbothered. "And what does it show about Dawlish, running around and attacking people like a madman? He's lucky he didn't get worse."
Before Hermione could respond, Draco Malfoy stepped in, his smirk as sharp as ever. "Come on, Harrow. Let's leave the Gryffindors to their moral crusades. We have better things to do."
Gilda hesitated, her gaze flicking to Eleanor, who was still brushing herself off. "Are you all right?"
Eleanor nodded, though her expression was tight with unease. "I'm fine."
"Good," Gilda said, her voice colder now. She turned and followed the other Slytherins toward the waiting carriages, her steps slow and deliberate.
As they approached, the thestrals stood silently, their hollow eyes fixed on her. For a moment, Gilda felt the weight of their gaze, as if they were judging her. She realized, with a cold pang, that she wasn't the only one on the platform who could see them. Harry Potter had been watching everything, and the determination in his eyes unsettled her. He wasn't the type to let these things go, that she was certain of.
The thought stayed with her, heavy and unrelenting, as she climbed into the carriage and left the chaos behind.
The carriage rattled gently as it began its journey toward Hogwarts, the dim lantern swinging above casting shifting shadows across the Slytherins seated inside. Gilda Harrow sat stiffly, her pale green eyes fixed on the window, though she wasn't really seeing anything outside. The thestrals had vanished into the dark, but their haunting presence lingered in her mind. Her breathing was shallow, her hands clasped tightly in her lap to keep them from shaking.
"I didn't want to come back," she said abruptly, her voice low but tense. The others turned toward her, their previous smugness fading at the unexpected vulnerability in her tone. "I was already dreading this, and now this mess with Rhys Dawlish and the Potter crew is going to make everything worse."
Blaise Zabini leaned back, his posture deliberately casual. "You're overthinking it, Harrow. Dawlish lost his temper and made a scene. Anyone with half a brain will see that he's the problem, not you."
Gilda snapped her head toward him, her eyes narrowing. "You broke a fourth year's wand, Blaise. You don't think that's going to come back on me? The second an opportunity arises, you're going to get a dressing down, and I'll be dragged into it because I'm the one everyone wants to blame."
Blaise shrugged, though his grin faltered slightly. "I did it because of our arrangement earlier. You wanted loyalty, didn't you? I was just proving my point."
"That wasn't what I wanted," Gilda retorted, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. "You think snapping his wand is going to help? If you're truly interested in what I have to offer, you'll make my life easier, not more difficult."
Her words hung in the air, the weight of her authority pressing down on the others. Blaise's grin disappeared entirely, replaced with a faint scowl. Draco Malfoy exchanged a glance with Theodore Nott, his jaw tightening, but he said nothing.
The silence was broken by Pansy Parkinson, who shifted awkwardly in her seat. She avoided Gilda's gaze but cleared her throat softly. "I... I'm sorry," she muttered, her voice barely audible.
The others stared at her in surprise, but Gilda's expression softened just slightly. She nodded, acknowledging the apology without a word.
Theodore was the next to speak, his tone carefully neutral. "She's right. We need to stop drawing unnecessary attention. If we're serious about... learning from her, from that book, we should focus on proving ourselves useful."
Draco rolled his eyes but eventually sighed. "Fine. But don't expect me to apologize to Dawlish."
Blaise leaned forward, his smirk returning faintly, though it lacked its usual sharpness. "For the record, I still think he deserved it. But fine. I'll keep things... subtle from now on."
Satisfied, Gilda leaned back slightly, though her tension didn't fully ease. "Good. The last thing I need is more spectacle."
The group fell into a tentative silence, the weight of the earlier events pressing down on them. Eleanor Selwyn, seated beside Gilda, watched her friend with a mix of admiration and unease. Gilda was commanding, calculated, and unrelenting—a far cry from the girl Eleanor had grown up with.
She's changed so much, Eleanor thought, her chest tightening. But who else does she have? Who else do I have?
It was impossible not to admire Gilda's strength, even when it made Eleanor uncomfortable. Gilda had carved out her place in a world that seemed determined to see her fail, and she did it with a confidence Eleanor couldn't help but envy. She realized, with a pang of guilt, that Gilda's ruthlessness was a reflection of the life Eleanor might have led if her parents were still alive.
If Uncle had cared enough to push me... would I have become like her?
The thought was sobering, but it also solidified something in Eleanor's mind. Gilda might be harsh, even cruel, but she was all Eleanor had. Backing her wasn't just a matter of loyalty—it was survival.
"I'll watch your back," Eleanor said quietly, her voice steady.
Gilda glanced at her, and for a moment, the cold mask slipped. There was a flicker of gratitude in her pale green eyes, quickly hidden as she turned back to the window.
The carriage rattled on, the lights of Hogwarts drawing closer in the distance. The castle loomed like a shadowed titan, waiting to embrace them in its walls of tradition, power, and judgment. And for Gilda Harrow, it would be another battlefield—one she had no choice but to win.