Chapter 1 – The Hogwarts Express
The first of September had arrived once again. King's Cross Station buzzed with families saying their goodbyes, owls hooting impatiently, and trolleys squeaking under the weight of trunks and cages. Among the crowd was Ava Johnson, standing quietly on Platform 9, clutching the handle of her luggage as she watched the ritual she had come to know all too well.
For the fourth year in a row, Ava found herself surrounded by familiar faces and the usual scene. Warm hugs, last-minute reminders, tearful goodbyes. It was sweet, in a way, but also bitter. Every year it was the same: a quick scan of the station, a quiet sigh, and the empty ache of waiting for someone who never came. She glanced down at her watch. Ten till eleven. He was still not there.
Her eyes drifted across the platform, landing on her cousin, Angelina Johnson, wrapped in her parents' embrace. A sharp sting of jealousy hit Ava's chest.
It always came at this part. She'd long since gotten used to traveling alone, but seeing Angie enveloped in warmth and goodbye kisses still cracked something open.
She glanced down at the scuffed toes of her boots, and for a moment, a memory surfaced, unwelcome, but persistent.
She had been twelve, standing alone with her father at the edge of Platform 9, her brand-new trunk wobbling on uneven wheels. The station had felt impossibly loud that day, filled with the shouts of families, the shriek of the train whistle, the hoot of owls. And she had clutched the handle of her cart like it was the only thing tethering her to the ground.
Her father, Anthony Johnson, had stood beside her in pressed Ministry robes, straight-backed and unreadable. He hadn't knelt to say goodbye. Hadn't hugged her. Hadn't told her he was proud.
Just a clipped, "Don't waste your time on foolishness. And don't embarrass me."
That had been it. Her first send-off.
He had turned and walked away before the train even whistled.
Ava remembered standing there for a few minutes longer, pretending to adjust her trunk just to give the illusion that someone might come back for her. No one did.
Since then, she'd learned to make her own send-offs. Quiet ones. Internal ones. The kind you didn't need anyone else for.
At five till, Ava spotted Angelina and her parents beckoning her over through the bustling crowd. She inhaled deeply, pasting on the smile she had practiced too many times, and began to weave through the clusters of families.
Angelina was radiant, as always, standing tall and confident in her deep crimson sweater and sleek black jeans, her hair pinned up in a high twist that showed off her elegant neck and sharp cheekbones. Her mother, Alice, stood beside her with the same regal posture and impeccable style. All earthy tones, linen slacks, and a soft scarf draped casually around her neck, even though it wasn't cold. There was always something calming about Aunt Alice, with her gentle voice and the way she smiled at everyone like she personally knew them.
Uncle Nick was the exact opposite. Loud, warm, and charismatic in a way that immediately put others at ease. His laughter always seemed a little too loud, his hugs a little too tight, but it was comforting. People would always remark at how similar her uncle looked just like her father, but where Anthony Johnson was steel and command, Nick was sunshine and jokes. Even in something as simple as a brown wool coat and slacks, he looked effortlessly approachable.
It always felt bittersweet being around them, like she was standing just outside the glass of the life she wished she had.
"Hello Ava… he's late again, I see," Angelina said with a knowing glance, pulling Ava into a familiar, strong-armed hug. Her perfume, something rich and floral, wrapped around Ava. She didn't recognize the scent as her friend typically never wore any.
"I think 'late' implies he's actually coming," Ava replied, only half-joking.
Alice tutted gently. "Maybe this time will be different."
Ava didn't answer. They all knew better.
Uncle Nick's hand landed gently on her shoulder. "Hey, Angie, why don't you and your mum get your things ready while I steal Ava for a bit? We'll grab you girls some sweets for the ride."
Angelina was already nudging her trolley toward the train. "Don't take too long! I need my chocolate frogs," she called over her shoulder, playful, but anyone who knew her would recognize the urgency beneath the joke.
As Ava walked with her uncle toward the trolley, the scent of oil from the train and the sound of hooting owls followed her. She was always amazed at the chaos on this platform, trunks clattering, younger siblings crying, last-minute spells to shrink a suitcase or find a lost toad. The station was always alive with possibility. And yet, every year, Ava felt a little out of step with the world around her.
Uncle Nick gave her shoulder a light squeeze, taking her out of her thoughts. "You doing okay?"
"I'm fine," she replied, glancing toward the brick archway, as if her father might burst through it in a dramatic, last-minute redemption arc. "It's always like this. I know he's busy. I really don't mind."
Nick didn't say anything at first. He just handed her a few coins to pay for the treats and watched her choose a few chocolate frogs and a packet of Drooble's. When she returned, he leaned against the trolley and looked at her the way her father never did, like he actually cared about what she was feeling.
"You know I'm always here if you need anything. I know my little brother… well, let's just say he's not the best at knowing what really matters."
Ava shrugged, trying not to let the sting show. "He's just… doing what he thinks is right. And he makes sure I have everything I need. New robes. An owl. Books. I guess I don't really have room to complain."
"But you do," Nick said softly. "And it's okay that you do."
That made her throat tighten a bit. She cleared it quickly and gave him a lopsided smile. "I know girls who don't even have a dad in their life. At least he… shows up in his own way."
Nick shook his head, brushing a lock of hair from her face. "He should be giving you more than just things, Ava. He should be giving you *imself. Your time, your love, that's what a parent's supposed to give."
There was a moment of silence between them, just the echo of whistles and the shuffle of trunks around them. Then he added, quietly, "Sometimes I wish she was still around."
Ava swallowed. Her mother. She never said her name aloud in moments like this. Vanessa. She felt it press behind her ribs.
"You and me both," she said softly. "But I have what I've got."
The train whistle blew, sharp and final.
Ava stood on her toes and kissed her uncle's cheek. "Thanks for the sweets, Uncle Nick."
He smiled, eyes creasing. "Anytime, kiddo."
She turned and hurried back toward the train. As she reached the platform, she looked over her shoulder one last time. Nick and Alice stood waving, side by side. Angelina was already stepping onto the train, calling over her shoulder telling Ava to hurry up lest they end up having to share a compartment.
Ava took one last glance at the crowd, at the families huddled together in love and laughter, then turned and stepped onto the train.
The noise of the station melted behind her as she climbed the train steps. The scent of aged wood, warm metal, and pumpkin pasties instantly enveloped her. Voices echoed in the corridor. Laughter, teasing, and shouted greetings between friends reunited after summer.
"I'm going to find the team. Be back soon!" Angelina said as she darted ahead, not waiting for her to respond.
Of course, she was. Every year, like clockwork.
She pulled her trunk along the narrow aisle, peeking into compartments, dodging a fourth-year chasing after a rogue chocolate frog, and carefully stepping around a younger student tangled in her own scarf. Every compartment seemed full, packed with students laughing and swapping stories, some already in their school robes, others still dressed in Muggle jeans and tees.
She passed by a few familiar faces, fellow Gryffindors, a couple of Ravenclaws she'd worked with in Potions, and a Hufflepuff who once loaned her an extra quill. Most offered polite nods, and a few waved, but no one called her over.
She finally found an empty compartment near the back of the train, quiet and dimly lit. She slid the door open and heaved her trunk onto the overhead rack with a small grunt. The space was cool, the cushions still untouched, the window fogging faintly from the outside chill.
Ava slid into the seat by the window and rested her forehead against the cool glass for a moment, watching the platform fade from view. Her reflection stared back pale, tired, thoughtful. She blinked and turned away, pulling her book from her bag.
Broken Balls: When Fortunes Turn Foul wasn't the most uplifting read, but she appreciated the dry wit and slightly sarcastic tone of the author. It was a comfort, in its own way.
She settled in, tucking her legs beneath her and letting the rhythm of the train soothe the nervous buzz in her stomach. School again. Another year. Maybe this time would be different. Maybe not. But at least, for the moment, she had quiet.
A few pages into her book, Ava was just beginning to settle into the quiet hum of the train when the compartment door slid open. Angelina peeked in. She hovered in the doorway, rocking slightly on her heels, hands behind her back. The picture of forced innocence.
"Sooo," she began, drawing the word out, "funny thing… there's not a lot of space left on the train and, well–"
"Yes, you and your Quidditch friends can hang out in here," Ava interrupted without looking up.
Angelina blinked. "How do you always do that? You always know what I am about to say before I even have a chance to say it."
Ava slid her bookmark into place and raised an eyebrow. "People think I'm good at Divination, but it's really just observation. I heard Alicia's laugh three compartments down. She only laughs like that when Fred's telling a story, which means the team's together, and since you're here instead of them–"
"Alright, alright," Angelina laughed. "I get it. You're terrifyingly perceptive."
"It's a gift," Ava said dryly."
Ava sighed, though there was no real annoyance behind it. She slipped a folded receipt into the book as a bookmark and gave a small nod. "Yeah, sure. Just don't knock anyone unconscious."
Angelina beamed. "You're the best," she said before ducking back into the corridor.
Within minutes, the compartment went from serene to chaotic. Bodies filled the space, loud laughter trailing in with the scent of broom polish and Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet squeezed in beside Angelina, while Fred and George Weasley claimed the bench opposite her.
Oliver Wood appeared last, his arms crossed and posture rigid, exuding the energy of someone who'd rather be midair on a broom than cramped in a train compartment. He looked every bit the seasoned Quidditch captain with his sharp eyes, windswept hair, and an air of intensity that made everyone sit up a little straighter. As he stepped inside, Ava instinctively shifted closer to the window, making herself as small as possible against the frame. Her book still lay open on her lap, but the moment he started speaking, she knew there'd be no returning to it now.
Fred and George flanked her on the opposite bench, chatting animatedly with Katie and Alicia. Though they were close enough for Ava to feel the vibration of their laughter in the soles of her shoes, she couldn't help but feel detached, as though she were a quiet observer tucked just outside the orbit of their vibrant, fiery world. Still, their energy was magnetic in its own way. It was easy to see why Angelina gravitated toward them.
Ava hadn't interacted with the twins much. They were more like recurring cameos in her life, known by name and reputation. Loud, daring, untouchable, but never really part of her personal storyline. They were always around, pulling pranks in the common room, testing questionable contraptions behind the castle, and roping Angelina into schemes that ended with someone in detention and someone else missing eyebrows. But Ava… Ava had always stayed on the periphery of that chaos. Watching. Not participating.
"Alright," Oliver began, launching into a recap of the team's summer drills, "we cannae afford another match like the one against Ravenclaw last year. I need tighter formation, cleaner passes, and most importantly… nae more reckless dives, Angelina."
Angelina rolled her eyes but grinned, nudging Katie with her elbow.
"We also need tae let Harry have full control o' the field," Oliver continued, his voice rising slightly over the chatter. "He's our Seeker, and he needs clear visibility and room tae maneuver. That means no crowdin' the pitch, no crossin' his flight path, and for Merlin's sake–" he turned pointedly to the twins, "-aim those Bludgers wi' a bit more care. Ye nearly knocked him clean off his broom last match."
Across from Ava, Fred let out a loud scoff while George grinned like he'd just been complimented. Or maybe it was the other way around. She never really knew which twin she was speaking to and she had a feeling that they always lied about which twin they were.
"Oh, come off it, Wood," Fred (she assumed) said, throwing an arm over the back of the bench. "I had perfect control of that Bludger. I knew exactly where it was going."
"Aye, straight into Harry's kneecap," Oliver muttered, mostly to himself.
"Harry's tougher than he looks," George added with a smirk. "Bit of turbulence builds character."
Their defiance only made Oliver grit his teeth harder, and Ava could see the muscle twitching in his jaw. But the exchange pulled a quiet smile from her.
She couldn't help but steal another glance at the twins. Fred sat closest to her, his long legs stretched out with the kind of relaxed confidence that came only from someone who had never truly feared consequences. George, seated just beside him, leaned forward as he bantered, fingers tapping out a rhythm on his knee.
Though they were loud and reckless, the exact kind of people Ava usually kept a healthy distance from. There was something magnetic about them. They lit up the room. They made everything feel like a performance worth paying attention to. Even her.
She caught Fred glancing at her out of the corner of her eye like he'd felt her watching. His lips curved into the faintest smirk, but he didn't say anything and instead just turned back to the conversation, effortlessly folding himself back into the chaos like he hadn't noticed a thing.
Her cheeks flushed. She looked away, embarrassed to have been caught staring. Her gaze drifted past him again and landed on Oliver.
He was sitting now, arms crossed, deep in conversation with Katie. His was voice animated, his hands cutting the air as he explained something about maneuvering past Slytherin's Beaters. The intensity on his face made something twist in her stomach. It always did.
Ava had been eleven the first time she saw him. It was the very night she was Sorted.
The Great Hall had glowed with floating candles, long tables filled with unfamiliar faces, and the weight of expectation pressing down on her shoulders. Her palms were sweaty beneath her sleeves as she stepped away from the Sorting Hat,her heart still racing from the sound of it shouting Gryffindor! The table clapped loudly, but she stood frozen, uncertain where to sit or what to do.
Then she saw him. Oliver Wood, a third-year, broad-shouldered and towering by comparison, had shifted down the bench without a word and patted the seat beside him. His brown eyes were focused and warm, steady in the way she wasn't. Ava had moved without thinking, grateful, quiet, and still clutching the edge of her robes like a lifeline.
He'd smiled at her and passed the potatoes.
Just like that.
He didn't make a fuss. Didn't ask her name. Just acted like she belonged. And maybe for the first time since she'd arrived, she'd believed it.
Later that night in the common room, she watched him from a worn armchair as he talked with older students about Quidditch. His eyes lit up when he spoke about plays and formations like it was more than a game to him. Like it was something sacred. He moved with a purpose that captivated her. He was so sharp, sure, like he was already building the future he wanted, one broomstick drill at a time.
From that moment on, she'd gone to every match. Not for the house pride. Not even for Angelina. She'd gone to watch him.
She told herself it was harmless. Just admiration. Just curiosity.
But the truth was quieter and more dangerous.
It was in the way her heart jumped when he laughed. The way her chest tightened when he walked past and didn't notice her. The way she memorized the cadence of his voice from across a crowded room.
Oliver Wood had been her first real crush. The kind that didn't disappear with time only softened around the edges.
And now, three years later, she was sitting just feet away from him, pretending she wasn't still carrying that same ache behind her ribs.
"You alright there, Johnson?" Fred's voice cut in, low and amused. "You've gone a bit quiet. Predicting my future?"
Ava blinked, startled. She turned to find Fred watching her again, this time with one eyebrow raised and the ghost of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Sorry," she murmured. "Zoned out."
Fred leaned back against the bench, arms folded loosely across his chest. "Clearly. Must've been one hell of a daydream."
She gave a noncommittal shrug and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her heart still pulled stubbornly in Oliver's direction. "Something like that."
Fred didn't press, but his eyes lingered on her for a beat longer before someone tossed a Bertie Bott's bean at his head and dragged him back into the conversation.
Ava exhaled, slow and silent, and shifted in her seat. Her book sat open in her lap, unread and forgotten.
Maybe it was foolish. Maybe she was foolish. But some part of her still clung to that first night in the Great Hall, to that moment where one smile had made everything feel less terrifying.
And sitting here now, close enough to hear his voice, close enough to see the exact way his brow furrowed when he talked about game strategy. She knew the truth:
Her crush on Oliver Wood wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.
She tried to focus on her book again, but her eyes kept drifting to Oliver, to his hands, to the way he grinned when Angelina teased him. Her chest felt tight, and it wasn't just from being squashed into the corner of a packed compartment.
Angelina leaned in, nudging Ava gently with her elbow. "You're staring," she whispered, amusement curling in her voice.
"I am not," Ava muttered, eyes fixed determinedly on the same sentence she'd read three times.
"Please. You've had that page open since Fred made that joke about Bludgers. Which was at least five chaotic minutes ago."
Ava rolled her eyes. "I'm just tired."
"Mhm." Angelina gave her a knowing look, then grinned. "You know, it's kind of cute. You always get that dazed look when he talks Quidditch."
"I do not get dazed…"
"Oh please… remember when you said you'd die if Oliver ever actually talked to you?"
Normally, that kind of teasing wouldn't have fazed Ava, not really. But at that precise, miserable moment, the room had fallen into a lull, everyone catching their breath from laughing at something George had said. The timing couldn't have been worse.
Angelina stopped mid-sentence, her eyes going wide as the words lingered in the sudden silence like smoke in the air.
Ava froze.
Angelina reached out instinctively as if she could snatch the moment back. "Oh…Ava, I didn't mean–"
Fred snorted, barely managing to stifle a laugh. Alicia and Katie turned toward her with raised brows and curious smiles. And Oliver, naturally, glanced over with a slight frown, clearly having heard his name but not the context. Which somehow made it worse.
It was mortifying.
Ava felt the heat crawl up her neck and bloom across her cheeks. She forced a tight, brittle smile, then stood so abruptly that her book slipped from her lap and hit the floor with a dull thud.
"I'm–going to get something from the trolley," she mumbled, scooping it up and slipping out the door before anyone could stop her.
The corridor was cooler. Quieter. A sharp contrast to the suffocating warmth of the crowded compartment she'd just fled. Ava didn't stop moving, not even when she passed the trolley witch or the second-year Hufflepuff offering a half-hearted "You alright?" She kept walking, fast and focused, as if she could outrun the heat burning in her cheeks.
She didn't stop until she reached the far end of the carriage, where the laughter and chatter dissolved into the steady clatter of the train and the hollow rush of wind pressing against the windows. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, drowning out everything else. Her thoughts were a mess of panic and fury. They were jagged, spinning, and incoherent almost making her dizzy. A thousand curses buzzed through her mind like angry bees, most of them aimed squarely at her cousin.
She found an empty compartment and slipped inside like a shadow, shutting the door with more force than necessary. The moment the latch clicked, she pressed her forehead to the cool glass, trying to catch her breath. Her fingers curled into the edge of the window frame. The temperature helped ground her but it wasn't enough.
The familiar sense of invisibility she wore like armor had shattered in an instant, and now she was standing in the wreckage, exposed and humiliated.
She dropped onto the bench seat and leaned forward, elbows on her knees, head in her hands.
It wasn't just the embarrassment. It was the sharp reminder that no matter how hard she tried to stay out of the spotlight, someone (even someone she trusted) could still drag her into it without meaning to. And worse, Oliver had looked at her. Not like he really saw her. Just enough to make her wish he hadn't.
"Fuck me," she groaned, her voice muffled and miserable. The door creaked open a second later.
"Well, that's quite the offer," came a familiar voice. "Though maybe next time we pick a spot with a bit more ambiance? Candles, music... less train noise?"
Ava groaned louder, lifting her head just enough to shoot a glare at the doorway, and, of course, there stood one of the twins, leaning casually against the frame like he'd strolled in by accident and just decided to stay.
"Which one are you?" she asked flatly.
He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Wounded. Truly. You've known us for how many years now?"
"You usually come as a set," Ava muttered. "And you're both loud."
He stepped inside, sliding the door shut behind him. "Fair. But I'm Fred. The better-looking one."
Ava gave him a look that said she wasn't buying it, but she didn't argue. She just sank back against the cushion, arms crossed, legs curled up on the bench like she could fold herself into something unnoticeable.
Fred didn't sit right away. He hovered for a moment, watching her with that same half-interested, half-investigative expression she was starting to realize wasn't an act. He wasn't just joking. He noticed things. Maybe more than people gave him credit for.
He finally dropped into the seat across from her, stretching his legs out like he had all the time in the world. "So. Trolley run, huh?"
Ava winced. "Please don't."
Fred held up his hands in surrender. "No judgment. I've bolted from a room for way less. One time George sneezed mid-Potions and somehow set his eyebrows on fire. I left before Snape could assign me detention just for existing."
That earned the smallest flicker of a smile from her.
A beat passed before Ava squinted at him suspiciously. "Did Angie send you after me?"
Fred blinked. "Absolutely not."
She gave him a look.
"I was also deeply invested in procuring some overpriced sweets," he added with a solemn nod. "It just so happened that I saw you dramatically storm off and thought, 'Wow, that girl clearly needs company and possibly a Sugar Quill.'"
"Right," Ava said, dry. "Just a coincidence."
"Exactly. Serendipity," Fred said, leaning back like he was very proud of using a big word. "Besides, I've always found these quieter compartments have better acoustics for sulking. Less foot traffic."
Ava huffed a soft laugh and shook her head. "Is this your thing? Just… annoying people until they feel better?"
"Only the special ones," Fred said with a wink.
Ava groaned again, this time more out of reluctant amusement than embarrassment, and let her head fall back against the seat. She wasn't ready to laugh about what had happened. Not yet. But with Fred there, taking up space with his absurdity and warmth, the sting didn't feel quite so sharp.
Fred let the silence settle for a moment before tilting his head. "So… was that actually a trolley run, or just a dramatic exit with flair?"
Ava gave him a flat look. "Do you really have to ask?"
"Nah," he said easily. "But I was hoping you'd admit it. Makes the whole thing feel more theatrical."
"Glad my humiliation is entertaining for you."
"Oh, absolutely. Ten out of ten. Full house performance. You had the perfect tragic timing… silence, blushing, the escape. Angelina should've handed you a bouquet on your way out."
Ava rolled her eyes, though her lips twitched at the corners. "It wasn't supposed to be a performance."
Fred shrugged. "Accidents make the best stories."
She let that sit between them for a second, fingers absently tracing the edge of her book cover. The tension in her chest had eased slightly, though the embarrassment still hummed beneath the surface like a leftover spell that hadn't worn off yet.
"I just hate attention like that," she muttered, almost more to herself than to him.
Fred didn't interrupt. He just leaned back, watching her with an expression that, while still easygoing, had quieted into something a little more focused.
"It's like… I work really hard to not be noticed, you know?" she continued. "And then Angie, in all her well-meaning glory, goes and announces to the room that I'd basically melt into a puddle if a certain someone looked in my direction."
Fred lifted a brow. "To be fair, it was very specific."
Ava groaned and covered her face with her hands again. "Don't remind me."
"I'm just saying," he added with a grin, "if we had melted into puddles whenever a crush talked to us, Hogwarts would be flooded. First years would be arriving by boat."
That earned an actual laugh from Ava, small but genuine. She peeked out between her fingers. "You're ridiculous."
"And yet," he said, placing a hand dramatically on his chest, "you haven't kicked me out. Which means I'm growing on you."
"Like a fungus," she said, settling back into the seat.
Fred beamed. "Exactly."
Ava leaned her head against the window, the cool glass grounding her again. Outside, the countryside blurred by in streaks of green and gold, and inside this little pocket of quiet, things didn't feel quite so overwhelming anymore.
She glanced back at Fred, who was now balancing his wand on his upper lip like a mustache.
"You ever melt into a puddle when someone talks to you?" she asked, the question slipping out before she could second-guess it.
Fred blinked, the wand falling from his lip into his lap. "Me? Nah."
Ava arched a brow. "Not even a little? Come on, Mr. Bludger Control... You've never had a crush that turned your brain to mush?"
He opened his mouth like he was about to give one of his usual cheeky answers, but paused instead. Just a flicker of something behind his eyes. It wasn't discomfort, exactly. Just... stillness.
Then he shrugged, a grin tugging at his mouth again. "Well, I am extremely charming, so naturally most of my crushes have melted first. Very messy. Slippery floors."
Ava snorted. "That is not an answer."
"It's the best answer," he said, resting his head back against the seat. "Besides, I don't think I've ever gone speechless over someone. I tend to talk more when I like someone. You know… make a fool of myself. It's sort of my brand."
She considered that, studying him more closely. "So what you're saying is... the louder you are, the more you're trying not to panic?"
"Pretty much," he said breezily. "Which, in retrospect, makes most of my school years a crisis."
She laughed again, easier this time, and tucked her legs up beneath her. "You're so weird."
"Thank you. I try."
There was a moment where their eyes met, just long enough to feel the silence settle, not awkward, but something quieter. More real.
Then Fred clapped his hands once and leaned forward. "Now. Back to important matters. Do we want to return to the scene of the tragic outburst or stay here and pretend we were always far too cool for that crowd?"
Ava smiled, and for once, the warmth in her chest had nothing to do with Oliver Wood.
Ava hesitated at Fred's question, her eyes flicking toward the door as if just thinking about returning to that compartment made her break out in hives.
"I'm not ready to go back," she admitted, her voice quieter now. "I think I've met my public humiliation quota for the next… decade."
Fred nodded, surprisingly serious for once. "Fair enough."
He waited a beat before asking, "You want company?"
She looked at him, really looked at him, and for a second, she thought about saying yes. But the thought of being seen, even by someone who clearly wasn't trying to make her feel worse, felt exhausting.
"No," she said gently. "Thanks, though. I just need a minute to be invisible again."
Fred gave a half-smile, something softer than his usual smirk. "Alright. But only if you promise not to melt into a puddle while I'm gone."
She gave him a look. "Not unless someone gives a public speech about my crush again."
He chuckled and stood, stretching his arms over his head. "Guess I'll go make sure George hasn't set anything on fire."
Fred turned toward the door, but before he could slide it open, the train gave a sudden, violent shudder. The floor pitched beneath them, the sound of grinding metal echoing through the carriage. Ava gripped the bench, heart lurching into her throat as the train screeched to a halt.
There was confusion and some protests outside the compartment. But then came the cold.
It wasn't a chill. It was something deeper… ancient… hollow. The kind of cold that crept beneath your skin and sat heavy in your bones. Ava sucked in a sharp breath as a layer of frost began creeping along the corners of the window beside her.
The lights overhead flickered once. Twice.
Fred's usual playfulness drained from his face. Without a word, he moved to the door and cracked it open just a sliver.
A rush of colder air spilled into the compartment. His eyes darted through the crack, scanning the corridor beyond. For a moment, he froze. Ava could see the muscles in his shoulders tighten.
Ava stood slowly. "Fred?" she whispered, taking a tentative step forward. "What is it?"
He didn't answer right away, just slid the door closed again, slowly and carefully, and stepped back. The color had drained from his face, his usual spark dimmed under something heavier, older.
"They're here," he said under his breath.
"What's here?" she asked.
"Dementors… has to be," he whispered.
Ava's stomach dropped. "Dementors?" Her voice came out sharper than she intended. "What the hell are Dementors doing on the school train?"
Fred turned quickly and pressed a finger to his lips. "Shhh."
His eyes flicked up toward the door as if sound alone might draw its attention. For a moment, Ava didn't understand, but then she felt it. That strange, crushing weight in her chest. Like the world had tilted slightly off-balance. Like every ounce of warmth had been pulled from the air.
The temperature in the compartment had plummeted. Frost crept along the windowpane, delicate and eerie. The lights above flickered again, casting long shadows that stretched and shivered with each tremble of the train.
Ava's hands had begun to shake. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, but it wasn't enough. The cold wasn't on her skin. It was in her.
Fred moved slightly, shifting to stand in front of her. Not dramatically like a hero in a story, but instinctively. Solid. Steady. A quiet wall between her and the thing that loomed just outside their door.
She stepped closer without thinking, drawn toward him like a source of gravity or maybe it was just his warmth. Their arms brushed but she didn't move away.
Fred glanced sideways at her, his brow tense but eyes still calm. He reached out and gently took her hand in his. "Just breathe."
Ava nodded, though her lungs felt too tight to take in much air.
They stood there in silence, shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand, as the train sat frozen in time as something ancient and terrible moved past them in the corridor.
And still… Fred didn't move. His hand still holding hers while his other raised towards the door with his wand at the ready, his eyes fixed on the door.
They stood frozen in the dim compartment, the cold pressing in around them like a physical weight. Ava's breath fogged in front of her, and beside her, Fred remained still…tense but grounded, a solid presence between her and the door.
Then, suddenly, a burst of light flared from the corridor. Bright, silvery, and wild. It cast streaks across the frosted windows, chasing back the shadows in a sweeping arc.
A sharp, high-pitched screech followed, so piercing Ava flinched. It echoed like claws against glass, and then just as quickly as it had come, the cold began to retreat.
The frost on the window melted into rivulets. The lights overhead steadied. The air, though still cool, no longer felt suffocating.
Silence cracked open, replaced almost immediately by sound. The corridor erupted into voices that overlapped.
"Did you see that?"
"-nearly passed out–"
"Mate, I swear I couldn't feel my fingers–"
"Was that a Patronus? It had to be–"
Doors slid open and feet shuffled, a few students poking their heads into the corridor. The tension broke like a spell lifting, though it left something trembling beneath the surface, like the residue of fear that hadn't quite let go.
Ava exhaled shakily and took a step back from Fred, letting go of his hand, suddenly aware of how close she'd been. Her limbs still felt heavy with cold, like it had seeped into her bones and hadn't quite let go.
Fred turned to her, brows furrowed, concern softening the edges of his usual grin. "You alright?"
She nodded slowly, arms wrapping around herself again. "I don't know. I can't… shake the chill."
Fred's gaze flicked to her hands, still trembling slightly, and for once, he didn't have a joke ready. Not right away.
She tried to collect herself, forcing a breath past the tightness in her chest. "So," she said, her voice thinner than before, "this is definitely going in my top five worst train rides."
Fred huffed a soft laugh but didn't press. "Not a fan of dark soul-sucking vibes, then?"
"Not particularly," she murmured, rubbing her hands together.
Just beyond the compartment door, the corridor was buzzing with voices, panicked, confused, and excited. A male voice rose above the rest, calm but authoritative.
"All right now. Is everyone accounted for? Anyone hurt? Check the compartments, please."
A moment later, there was a polite but firm knock on their door and then it slid open.
A tall man stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the light of the corridor. His robes were worn but clean, and his tired face carried a quiet kind of steadiness. Threadbare but composed.
"Are you two all right?" he asked, voice kind but cautious.
Ava opened her mouth to answer. A simple yes, maybe. But the man's gaze had landed on her and paused.
His eyes flickered, something unreadable flashing across them. Confusion, maybe? Or something far more vulnerable. A breath hitched in his chest. Barely noticeable. His posture faltered the tiniest fraction like someone had pulled the ground out from beneath him.
Ava tilted her head, brow furrowing slightly. "Sir?"
The man blinked once, slowly, then gave a tight, quick smile as he pulled himself back together.
"Right," he said, clearing his throat. "You're safe, then? No one passed out?"
Fred shook his head. "Bit cold, but nothing permanent."
"Good," the man said. His eyes lingered on Ava a moment longer, then shifted away. "Carry on. We should be moving again shortly."
And then he was gone, closing the door with a soft click behind him.
Ava stared at the door for a long second. "Who was that?"
"No idea," Fred replied, watching the corridor through the glass. "New professor, maybe? Doesn't exactly scream cheerful welcome, does he?"
"No," Ava said, arms tightening around herself again. "But… he looked at me like…"
She didn't finish the sentence. Didn't know how to. The feeling passed before she could name it, like something brushing the edge of memory that had never actually happened.
Fred didn't press. He just leaned his head back against the wall, the weight of the moment still hanging between them.
The train lurched, wheels grinding against the tracks as it began to move again. The faint hum returned to the floor beneath their feet, but the compartment remained still.
Fred let out a slow breath, his hand drifting through his hair. "Well," he said quietly, "that was... something."
Ava didn't respond right away. She was staring at the door again, where the man had stood just moments ago, that strange flicker of recognition still clinging to the back of her mind like static. But it was gone now. Dissolved into the hum of the train and the press of cold slowly receding from her skin.
She finally looked at Fred. "Thanks. For… staying I mean."
He met her gaze, and for once, there was no teasing in his eyes. Just something steady and gentle. "Anytime," he said simply.
The quiet held between them, was not awkward, just... full. Like a conversation waiting to happen, if either of them dared to speak it.
The compartment door slammed open.
"Ava!" Angelina burst in, her face flushed and frantic. "Oh thank Merlin! Are you okay? I couldn't find you after the train stopped and then someone said they saw you walking off and I thought…"
Ava blinked, still pressed against Fred's side. Before she could answer, Angelina swept her into a tight hug.
"I'm fine, Angie," Ava mumbled into her cousin's shoulder.
Angelina pulled back slightly, eyeing her up and down. "Are you sure? You look pale. Paler than usual. Wait…" her eyes narrowed, shifting between her and Fred. "Were you in here the whole time? With him?"
Fred raised his hands in mock surrender. "Before you go full protective cousin mode. Nothing happened. She needed space, I found her. That's all."
Angelina crossed her arms. "Funny. You said you were going to the loo."
Fred gave a half-smile. "Technically, I was. But then I saw Ava leg it down the corridor and figured I'd check-in. Bloke's allowed to change his mind."
Ava glanced down, her cheeks warm. Angelina didn't look entirely convinced, but she let it drop.
"Well, everyone's in a panic," she said, running a hand through her hair. "They're saying there were actual Dementors on the train. Ministry-sanctioned, apparently."
Fred and Ava exchanged a glance.
Angelina caught it. "What?"
"Nothing," Ava said, her voice quiet but steadier now. "We just… felt it too."
Angelina's expression softened as she sighed. "Come back to the compartment, yeah? Alicia's still halfway in shock, and George tried to cheer her up by pretending his chocolate frog was possessed."
Fred snorted. "Did it work?"
"Absolutely not," Angelina said. "She screamed and nearly hexed him."
Ava let out a small laugh. The chill lingering from earlier began to ease.
"Come on," Angelina added gently. "It feels better now. Less… apocalypse."
Ava hesitated, then nodded.
Fred stood first and offered Ava his hand. Without a word, she took it.
