Disclaimer - I do not own Harry Potter, all characters belong to JK Rowling :)
Chapter warnings: none :)
XXX
Harry was woken abruptly by a loud crash from outside his bedroom door, followed by a series of reverberating bangs. He stretched out his legs, wincing at how stiff and achy they felt. His left cheek was numb with cold from where he had been leaning with his head against the glass, and his backside was completely numb. Falling asleep on the windowsill hadn't been the brightest idea, he decided.
"You could've killed her!" Mrs Weasley's shrill voice came up the stairs. "Just because you're allowed to use magic now, it does not mean you have to whip your wands out for everything!"
Harry grimaced slightly; it was way too early in the morning for yelling. There was a soft knock, and Sirius popped his head round the door. "Morning, Harry," he smiled.
"Morning," Harry yawned.
"Sorry about the noise," Sirius crossed the room to sit on Harry's bed, "the twins had the bright idea to levitate their trunks down the stairs."
"Who'd they almost kill?" Harry chuckled.
"Ginny. They didn't realise she was coming up the stairs."
"Ah."
Sirius looked around the room, at the mess of clothes and books strewn about. "Not packed yet?" He asked.
"Shit, I was going to do it last night but I fell asleep-"
"No worries," Sirius said, and flicked his wand. Harry's possessions rose into the air, and in seconds everything was neatly folded and packed into his trunk.
"Thanks," Harry smiled. "I really need to learn how to do that."
"I'll teach you some time, it comes in handy," Sirius grinned. "How are you feeling about today?"
"Okay, I guess." Truthfully, Harry was no less anxious about returning to Hogwarts then he had been that night; the thought of facing everyone tied his stomach in knots.
"I'm sure you'll settle back in pretty quickly. But if anything happens, promise me you'll write?"
Harry nodded, smiled. He had no doubt he'd be receiving at least two letters a week from Sirius and Remus, at least for the first few weeks.
"Okay, I'll leave you to get ready. Molly wants to leave in about half an hour, make sure you come down and get some breakfast first."
Not bloody likely.
Once Sirius had left the room, Harry walked over to the bookcase next to his bed and prised a worn leather tome from the top shelf. He thumbed through the pages until he reached the hundredth, and two thin metal strips fell into his palm. He turned one over between his fingers, watching the edge catch the light. There was a moment – however brief – where he considered not packing them. Where he imagined setting them gently back in the book, closing the cover like an oath. Leaving them behind.
But he didn't.
He crossed the room to where his trunk lay and tucked them inside an old sock Dobby had once gifted him, the garish fabric rough and familiar against his skin. He tied it tightly, nestling it among his school robes and quills. Out of sight. Safe.
Harry stood for a moment, gazing at the mess of his bedroom — now pretty much bare again thanks to Sirius's wandwork. It didn't look like his anymore. Just another room he'd passed through. Another temporary stop. With a last glance over his shoulder, Harry turned toward the door. The room was silent. Still. It felt like it was holding its breath. He paused at the landing, giving the bedroom one last look. His eyes lingered on the window, the place he'd sat just hours ago with the stars blinking back at him.
Then, without another thought, Harry turned away and headed downstairs.
By the time Harry dragged his trunk down the narrow staircase, the house was mostly empty. The usual chaos of departure had already moved outside — he could hear Ron yelling something about forgetting his textbooks, and Mrs Weasley's shrill voice carrying from the garden. Only Sirius and Remus remained in the kitchen, sitting side by side at the scrubbed wooden table, two mugs of tea growing cold between them.
The quiet hit Harry like a wall.
"Ready to go?" Sirius asked softly.
Harry nodded. "Yeah."
"The train leaves in half an hour. Are you sure you've got everything?" Remus asked gently.
"Think so," Harry said, and immediately started second-guessing himself. He had probably forgotten something — he always did. But it didn't matter. Not really.
He wasn't sure what to say next. The kitchen felt too big, too quiet. Like something important was slipping through his fingers.
"Make sure you write to us, okay?" Remus said with a smile, which Harry returned. "I mean it," he added. "If anything happens. Even if nothing happens. You don't have to wait for something to go wrong to write."
Harry nodded, unable to get any words past the lump in his throat. Then Sirius was in front of him, pulling him into a fierce hug — all warm limbs and slightly-too-tight grip, like he wasn't quite ready to let go.
"You're going to be fine," Sirius said, voice rough in his ear. "But if anyone gives you trouble — students, teachers, Ministry officials — you owl me. I'll be at Hogwarts so fast McGonagall'll have to stun me to stop me."
That managed to pull a laugh out of Harry — small, but real.
When Sirius finally stepped back, Remus took his place, arms open but not reaching — waiting, as always, for Harry to make the first move. He stepped into the hug without hesitation.
"Keep your head above water," Remus murmured. "And if you ever feel like you can't… tell someone. Me. Sirius. Ron. Hermione. Anyone."
Harry nodded against his shoulder.
"I'm proud of you," Remus said.
"Go on," Sirius said, giving his shoulder one last squeeze. "They're waiting."
Harry turned and stepped through the back door, the bright morning light spilling across the threshold like a promise.
He didn't look back.
~~
The rhythm of the train lulled most of the compartment into a comfortable quiet, broken only by the occasional crinkle of a sweet wrapper or the distant whistle of the wind outside. Ron was thumbing through a battered Quidditch magazine, and Hermione was deep into Hogwarts: A History for what had to be the hundredth time. Across from them, Harry sat with his forehead against the cool windowpane, watching the blur of hills and hedgerows streak by. He felt weirdly disconnected – the colours, the laughter, the start-of-term excitement; it was all there, but just out of reach.
"You okay?" Hermione asked, her voice soft.
"Yeah," Harry lied automatically. "Just tired."
She didn't look convinced, but didn't press either. For that, Harry was grateful. He didn't think he had the energy for pretending.
Ginny appeared at the door, cheeks flushed. "We're playing exploding snap in the next carriage. You coming?"
Ron perked up instantly. "Yeah, alright."
Hermione closed her book with a sigh. "Might as well. Coming, Harry?"
"Nah, I'm alright thanks," Harry said quietly, contorting his face into a something resembling a smile as he watched them file out of the compartment, laughter trailing behind them. The door slid shut with a click, and the silence that followed felt heavier than before. Harry curled his knees up onto the seat, tucking himself into the corner of the compartment, gaze still fixed on the passing scenery. They were almost there. He could feel it in the change of light, in the way the fields began to give way to thick, dark forest. Soon, the castle would rise out of the darkness like a dream.
But for now, he let himself drift.
When the train finally pulled into Hogsmeade Station, Harry trailed behind the others, trunk in tow. He shivered slightly in the cool air, his robes doing little against the chilling wind. He spotted the thestral-drawn carriages waiting at the end of the platform, their skeletal forms barely visible in the low light. He wondered, absently, whether more students could see them now.
Ron and Hermione waited for him beside one of the carriages.
"You alright?" Ron asked, glancing at him sideways.
Harry forced a smile. "Yeah. Just a bit of a headache. I might just go straight to bed." Hermione frowned, but they didn't push him any further.
By the time they reached the castle, the Great Hall was glowing with golden light, warm and loud with the noise of returning students. Harry slipped away quietly, unnoticed in the crowd, and made his way up to Gryffindor Tower.
Firelight danced in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the old stone walls. The scent of smoke and old parchment filled the air, familiar and comforting. He climbed the narrow staircase to his dormitory, then dropped his trunk at the foot of his bed and sat on the edge of the mattress, shoulders heavy.
He didn't feel hungry.
He didn't feel much of anything.
He lay back on the bed, eyes fixed on the canopy above. Outside, the sounds of the feast carried faintly through the window: laughter, the clatter of cutlery, distant music. All of it felt very far away.
He closed his eyes.
XXX
Thanks for reading! Take care 3