The moment Henry found an empty compartment, he wasted no time. He slid the door shut and locked it with a sharp flick of his wand before setting up a few quick wards. Silencing charms. A mild repelling ward. Just enough to keep away unwanted company.
With that done, he sank into the seat, stretching out comfortably. His head leaned back against the cushioned surface, emerald eyes slipping shut.
A good nap. That was all he needed before returning to the ever-chaotic halls of Hogwarts.
For a while, the rhythmic hum of the train and the gentle sway of the carriage lulled him into the embrace of sleep.
Another compartment on the train.
The rhythmic chugging of the Hogwarts Express echoed through the corridors as the scarlet train raced across the countryside, carrying students back to another year at the famed school of witchcraft and wizardry.
Inside a compartment warded by a Notice-Me-Not charm, Charlie Potter sat with his closest friend, Neville Longbottom. The faint hum of conversation and hurried footsteps outside were muffled by the layers of protective magic.
Charlie had begged his father to place the charm, and James, always indulgent when it came to his son, had complied without hesitation. The weight of constant attention, the whispering voices, the insistent stares—it was suffocating. Ever since he had first stepped onto Platform 9, students had flocked to him, as if merely being The Boy Who Lived meant he owed them something.
Now, at least for a little while, he could breathe.
Neville, ever a quiet and understanding presence, said nothing, simply watching his friend with a sympathetic gaze. He knew Charlie wasn't a fame hound.
Elsewhere on the Train…
In a dimly lit compartment near the back of the train, seven students sat in tense silence, the air thick with unspoken words.
The usual ease that surrounded their group had been replaced by something sharper—something unsettled.
Daphne Greengrass, her cool blue eyes fixed on the passing scenery, leaned against the window, her fingers lightly tapping against the polished wood of the seat. "He was with my family before we boarded," she murmured, as if piecing together a puzzle aloud. "I thought for sure he'd join us."
Across from her, Tracy Davis sighed, running a hand through her dark curls. "Maybe he wants to be alone. He spent most of last term like that."
Theo Nott, ever the pragmatist, scoffed. "No. We're his friends. He should be here. I'll check every compartment if I have to—I don't care how long it takes." His sharp grey eyes flashed with determination.
Blaise Zabini, lounging lazily in the corner, merely raised an eyebrow. "And if he doesn't want to be found, Theo? What then?" He let out a short, knowing chuckle. "You and I both know that if Henry wants to disappear, no force in this world—not even Hell itself—could track him down."
Theo set his jaw. "Then what should we do? leave him alone like everyone."
Tracy nodded firmly. "We have to try. He's our friend."
Violetta Lestrange, sitting beside Daphne, had remained silent until now, but the barely restrained fury in her violet eyes was unmistakable. "It's that Bones bitch's fault," she hissed, her fists clenching. "She started all this nonsense last year. When the time comes, I'll hex her into oblivion."
Daphne let out a low, dry chuckle. "Oh, Lestrange, get in line. You know he'll forgive her with a wave of his hand."
Violetta scoffed, crossing her arms.
Xi Li, the ever-observant Ravenclaw, finally looked up from her book, her dark eyes thoughtful. "That's beacuse Henry knows the reason, evrything happened because of a potion. puffs and gryff's" She turned a page with slow precision. "Though… those fools do need a lesson in respect."
Blaise smirked. "Theo and I pranked them last term. You should've seen the look on their faces. we've planned to continue this year too"
Violetta's lips curled into something dangerous. "Pranks? That's nothing. They deserve worse."
Silence followed her words, heavy and filled with unspoken knew the extent of what the Lestrange and Greengrass heiresses were capable of when it came to defending Henry Potter. Both girls had a ferocity unmatched, especially when it came to the boy who had stood by them in ways no one else had.
Xi Li sighed, finally closing her book. "Leave it. We'll find him in the castle. Then, we can talk to him."
Daphne's lips curled into a bitter smile. "And he'll either brush us off or give us one of his infamous cryptic answers."
Tracy, always the optimist, spoke softly. "This year will be harder for him." She glanced at Daphne, hesitant but firm. "his brother is starting his first year."
Daphne's entire body went rigid.
A storm brewed in her icy blue eyes as she lifted her chin, her voice sharp as steel. "He. Is. Not. His. Brother."
The temperature in the compartment seemed to drop several degrees.
Violetta's hands curled into fists, her voice venomous. "They abandoned him his whole life. They have no claim on him."
Silence fell over the group, but the tension did not ease.
All of them thought of Henry—the boy who had stood by them when no one else had. The boy who had protected them, who had shielded them from the cruelty of the world, despite enduring the worst of it himself.
They knew him. They understood him.
And they knew the storm that raged within him.
The only question now… was when it would finally break.
in another compartment
In a quiet compartment near the middle of the train, two figures sat in silence, the tension between them thick enough to smother the air.
Hannah Abbott stole a glance at her best friend, her fingers twisting nervously in her lap. The soft hum of the moving train did little to ease the heavy weight pressing down on her chest.
Susan Bones sat motionless, her hands clenched together, her nails digging into her palms. Tear tracks stained her cheeks, and though she had wiped them away, fresh ones kept falling, silent but relentless.
Hannah hesitated before speaking, her voice barely above a whisper. "Have you found him?"
The question felt heavier than it should have, but she already knew the answer. The despair in Susan's posture, the way she refused to meet her eyes—it told her everything.
Susan swallowed hard, her voice brittle. "No." She let out a shaky breath, her hands twisting together even tighter. "I've checked everywhere. He's not here. I've lost the only chance I had to apologize to him."
Hannah reached out, her fingers gently closing over Susan's. "But... I saw him board the train, Sue. He has to be here somewhere. Did you check every compartment?"
"I did." The words came out broken. Susan's shoulders trembled. "He's not here. I've lost him. I've lost my chance to make things right."
Hannah's heart ached at the hopelessness in her friend's voice. "We can still find him when we get to the castle." She squeezed Susan's hand, willing her to believe it. "There's time. I'm sure he'll forgive you, Sue."
Susan let out a bitter laugh, one that held no warmth—only regret. "He already did, Hannah." Her lips trembled. "But I can't stop the guilt. I can't undo what I said to him... what I did."
Hannah swallowed, her own throat tight. She had always known how much Susan had cared for Henry Potter—how deeply his absence had torn at her. And yet, no matter how much time passed, Susan never forgave herself.
"We don't know what the future holds," Hannah said softly, trying to offer hope even as doubt gnawed at her. "We can't give up hope."
Susan's head dipped, her breath uneven. "After everything I said to him... I don't deserve forgiveness." Her voice cracked, raw and broken. "I need to see him. I need to tell him how sorry I am."
She hesitated, as if the next words physically hurt to say. "I... I spoke to my aunt. And now I understand... how ashamed my parents must be of my behavior.*"
The dam broke.
Tears spilled freely down Susan's face, her body shaking as sobs tore from her throat. She buried her face in her hands, as if trying to hide from the weight of her own regret.
Hannah, her own chest aching with sympathy, pulled her friend into a gentle embrace, holding her as the train sped onward—toward Hogwarts, toward uncertainty, toward whatever awaited them in the days to come.
But deep in her heart, Hannah wondered…
Had Susan's regret come too late?
scene break
Lily Potter moved through the dimly lit halls of Potter Manor with silent grace. In her arms, her youngest child, Rosaline, was already half-asleep, her tiny fingers curled loosely against her mother's robes.
The nursery was peaceful, bathed in the soft glow of enchanted fairy lights floating near the ceiling. With practiced ease, Lily laid her daughter down, pulling the covers over her small form.
Rosaline stirred slightly, her tiny lips parting as if she might wake—but then she let out a contented sigh and settled back into sleep.
Lily smiled softly, brushing a stray curl from her daughter's forehead.
They were the only two in the mansion tonight.
James had left hours ago, off to report to their superiors with Sirius—both still reckless, still too eager for the thrill of the hunt. Even Remus had been caught up in their excitement. All three men had practically glowed with pride when they spoke of Charlie.
Her dear Charlie.
Lily's fingers tightened slightly in Rosaline's hair before she caught herself and exhaled.
Charlie was at Hogwarts now, surrounded by people who would smile in his face, shake his hand, and whisper behind his back. He was famous. Too famous.
He had to be kept safe. Not just from the shadows lurking in the dark corners of the world, but from the ones hiding in plain sight—manipulative mentors, false friends, those who sought to control him, to shape him into something he was not.
Dumbledore. The Ministry. The children who would see Charlie as a symbol instead of a boy. Dark sympathizers who might try to twist his kindness into something else entirely.
She had to trust that he would stay true to himself. But that didn't mean she wasn't afraid.
She closed her eyes briefly, exhaustion settling deep in her bones.
And in that moment—faint, fleeting—she saw something.
Blurry images, like a half-remembered dream. A child's laughter, ringing in the halls. Green eyes, alight with something unreadable. A voice—distant, but familiar—calling out to her.
The memories slipped through her grasp before she could make sense of them, dissolving like mist.
Lily's brows furrowed, but the moment passed as quickly as it had come.
With a quiet sigh, she bent forward, pressing a lingering kiss to Rosaline's forehead.
"Sleep well, my love," she whispered.
She stood, taking one last look at her sleeping daughter before turning and stepping silently out of the room.
The house felt too quiet now.
Too empty.
But she pushed the thought away and closed the door behind her.
Lily Potter walked toward the master bedroom, but her steps slowed just before she reached the door. A strange unease curled in her chest.
Something felt... wrong.
Her head turned slowly, eyes locking onto the last bedroom at the end of the hall.
A cold dread coiled around her spine.
Her breath hitched as she took a hesitant step forward, then another, her heart hammering with every inch closer. The silence of the house suddenly felt suffocating.
As she passed Charlie's bedroom, she barely spared it a glance. Instead, her focus remained on the door at the end of the hallway.
She reached it.
Her fingers hovered over the handle, trembling slightly. A bead of sweat trickled down her neck as she swallowed hard and finally turned the knob.
The door creaked open.
The room was neat. Too neat.
Lily's eyes swept across the space, her brow furrowing. The bed was made, the bookshelves full—yet she couldn't recall ever stepping foot in this room before.
But that didn't make sense.
This was a bedroom. Someone had lived here.
Her pulse quickened as she moved deeper inside, fingers tracing the spines of the books on the shelves. Many were advanced—Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Potions, spell theory.
The desk was organized, stacks of parchment arranged carefully. Her gaze caught on the topmost paper, and she reached for it.
The Hogwarts seal glinted in the dim light.
She unfolded it with shaking fingers and read the contents.
A report card.
Her breath caught. The grades were impeccable—Outstanding in every subject, including Ancient Runes and Potions. Each professor had left glowing remarks about his intelligence, his dedication, his ambition. All except for one.
Transfiguration.
The space where the professor's comment should have been was blank.
Her stomach twisted.
Lily's hands scrambled for another report, then another. They were all the same. Top of his class. Every year.
And then, at the top of the parchment, she saw it.
Henry Potter.
The paper slipped from her fingers.
Her knees nearly buckled as she reached for another stack. More documents. More proof. A history of excellence.
A history she had never known.
Her breath came in shallow gasps as her eyes darted to the walls, landing on framed photographs she had never seen before.
She stepped closer.
The picture before her looked to be like it had been taken at the end of his first year. The first was of Henry, standing among three girls.. One black-haired, one blonde, and one red-haired. Each wore different house colors—Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff. Henry, in the center, smiled faintly, his Ravenclaw robes pristine.
Ravenclaw.
Lily's lips parted. Henry wasn't in Gryffindor?
She reached for another picture. This one showed Henry surrounded by the Greengrass family. Elizabeth Greengrass had her arms wrapped around him, a maternal warmth in her embrace. Cyrus Greengrass stood beside them, a steady presence. The Greengrass daughters were sprawled across the floor, laughing alongside Henry as if he belonged were more pictures, all including the four girls along with two boys similar to his son's age.
As if he had always belonged there.
Her hand trembled as she picked up another.
Hagrid, introducing Henry and his friends to a massive, winged creature. A red-haired girl—a Hufflepuff—clutched Henry's hand, eyes alight with wonder.
Another photo.
Henry cradling Rosaline, her tiny hands curled into his robes, her face buried in his chest as she giggled.
Lily clutched the frame tightly.
Why had she never noticed any of this before?
Her breath came faster, her mind racing.
She turned on her heel and ran to her bedroom.
She yanked open the drawers, ripped photo albums from the shelves, flipping through them with frantic desperation.
Page after page.
Photo after photo.
Charlie.
Rosaline.
Charlie.
James with Charlie.
Christmases. Birthdays. Holidays.
Charlie.
Rosaline.
Charlie.
Her fingers shook as she turned another page.
Where was Henry?
She grabbed another album. Then another.
Nothing.
Where was his first Hogwarts letter?
His first trip to Diagon Alley?
His first Christmas at home?
Her chest constricted painfully.
Her mind reeled, grasping at fleeting memories—memories where she now realized she had seen him, only barely.
A shadow at the edge of gatherings.
A blur of raven hair in the background.
A boy slipping away before anyone noticed.
Her throat closed as the truth struck her with merciless clarity.
She had forgotten him.
Not just once. Not just for a day.
For years.
Her hands clapped over her mouth, muffling the sob that tore from her throat.
What kind of mother was she?
Her knees gave out, and she collapsed onto the floor, grief washing over her in suffocating waves.
Henry had been alone.
No gifts. No visits. No letters. No memories of her arms around him, of her voice calling his name.
And yet, he had thrived.
Not because of her.
Because of them.
The Greengrasses. His friends. His professors. People who had seen him, when she had not.
Lily's tear-filled eyes landed on something peeking out from an old book. A loose photograph, half-hidden between the pages.
Her trembling fingers reached for it.
It was old. Very old.
A picnic in the garden.
James holding Charlie, a wide grin on his face.
Lily herself, kneeling beside a little boy—her little boy. Henry.
He was laughing, his small hands clutching her robes, emerald green eyes shimmering with joy.
Her breath shuddered.
She remembered this.
Henry had been four. Charlie had been a one-year-old baby..
Before everything. Before the Dark Lord.
Before she had forgotten.
She clenched the photograph to her chest, her body wracked with silent sobs.
Henry's eyes were different now.
They had been warm, bright, full of love.
But at King's Cross, when she had met his gaze—
They had been cold.
Distant.
Empty.
She had lost him.
And she didn't know if she would ever get him back.
And that was the final straw.
Lily Potter broke.
A choked sob tore from her throat as she crumpled to the floor, clutching the faded photograph against her chest as though it could somehow turn back time. Her shoulders shook violently, and for the first time in years, she allowed herself to weep—loud, gut-wrenching cries that echoed through the empty mansion.
Her heart ached, a raw, relentless pain tearing through her as images of Henry as a child flooded her mind.
He had always sought her warmth, always reached for her hand. He had clung to her robes, tugging insistently until she read him a bedtime story. His laughter had once been the sweetest sound in the world, his emerald eyes shining with unfiltered love whenever he saw her.
Now, all that was gone.
She couldn't even remember the last time she had seen Henry smile—truly smile. Not the cold, impassive mask he wore now, the one she had mistaken for maturity, but a real, joyful grin. When had that stopped? When had he stopped looking at her with warmth?
And why had she never noticed?
The weight of her failure crashed down on her like a tidal wave. She had abandoned him. Neglected him. Forgotten him.
And this—this distance, this cold, unfeeling stranger who bore her son's face—was the price.
Tears blurred her vision as she gripped the photograph tighter, her nails digging into the worn edges. She longed to go back, to reach out and pull him into her arms, to apologize—to beg for his forgiveness.
But it was too late.
The damage had been done. And she feared, deep in her soul, that Henry Potter was lost to her forever.