The train rattled softly beneath them, a steady rhythm that filled the compartment with a sense of motion and something close to peace. Afternoon light streamed in through the window, fractured by clouds of drifting steam. The smell of pumpkin pasties and ink mingled with the faint metallic tang of the rails, and for the first time since summer began, the world felt — if not normal — at least familiar.
Alden sat by the window, one leg crossed neatly over the other, watching the countryside blur by in flashes of green and gold. The book in his lap was open but unread, the same paragraph revisited for the past ten minutes. Opposite him, Draco reclined with lazy confidence, his new prefect badge gleaming in the sunlight as though it had been polished hourly since he'd received it. Pansy sat beside him, chin propped on her hand, watching him with indulgent amusement.
Theo was sprawled across the adjacent seat, a half-eaten Chocolate Frog resting on his chest, and Tracey had claimed the armrest beside him, her hair pinned up with a silver quill she'd nicked from somewhere — likely his bag. Daphne sat at Alden's side, posture composed and elegant, a book balanced effortlessly in her hands, though she, too, hadn't turned a page in a while.
It was as though the months apart had never happened. The world outside their compartment — the papers, the whispers, the weight of the name Dreyse — all of it felt distant. Here, for a brief stretch of track, there was only them.
"So," Draco began, voice full of smug self-importance as he lifted a pale eyebrow, "how does it feel to be in the company of a Prefect?"
Theo groaned. "Already starting with this, are we?"
Pansy grinned, tugging lightly on Draco's sleeve to show her own identical badge. "Prefects, plural. Don't forget me."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Theo muttered.
Tracey leaned forward, smirking. "Out of all the people in this compartment, you two? Who was drunk enough to sign off on that?"
Draco straightened, hand pressed dramatically to his chest. "Head of House, obviously. Finally recognising true leadership when he sees it."
Theo snorted, flicking a piece of Chocolate Frog leg at him. "Leadership? You couldn't even lead Crabbe and Goyle to breakfast without getting lost."
"They wandered off!" Draco said indignantly. "And besides, being Prefect isn't about—"
"—bossing people around?" Tracey supplied.
"—though that helps," Pansy added with a smirk.
Draco huffed, but his eyes gleamed with amusement. "You're all just jealous."
Theo groaned again, dramatically throwing an arm over his eyes. "No, Malfoy, I assure you — I am grateful I don't have to patrol corridors with Longbottom tripping into walls beside me."
Laughter rippled through the compartment. Even Alden smiled, closing his book at last and leaning back in his seat.
"You deserve it," he said simply, voice calm but certain.
Draco blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity. "Well—yes, obviously—but still nice of you to say," he said, trying and failing to hide the pleased grin that tugged at his mouth.
"You work harder than most people notice," Alden continued. "Even when you're pretending not to."
Pansy nudged Draco with a grin. "He's got you there."
Draco sniffed, straightening his collar. "I suppose even geniuses need validation." But the way he said it lacked the usual arrogance. There was pride, certainly — but also a rare flicker of something genuine. Gratitude, perhaps.
Tracey rolled her eyes. "If this is what the year's going to be like, I'm transferring to Beauxbatons."
"Please do," Theo said dryly. "Maybe you'll learn table manners."
Tracey gasped. "Excuse me? I have excellent table manners."
"You eat like a starving troll."
"At least I don't talk like one!"
"Enough," Daphne said mildly without looking up from her book, though her lips twitched with amusement. "It's the first day. Can we not destroy the compartment already?"
Theo grinned. "No promises."
Outside, the fields gave way to thick stretches of forest, the leaves beginning to burn into autumn gold. The light turned warm and heavy, pouring across their faces and settling on the prefect badges with a metallic glint.
Draco sighed contentedly, standing to adjust his robes. "Pansy, we should probably make an appearance. Can't have the younger years running wild."
"Yes, Merlin forbid," Tracey said under her breath.
Pansy rose, smoothing her skirt with a little flourish. "We'll be back. Try not to burn anything down."
Theo gestured vaguely with a grin. "No promises."
Draco smirked, pausing at the door. For a fleeting moment, his gaze met Alden's again — less mockery this time, more a quiet, unspoken trust. "Don't let them talk about me while I'm gone."
Alden arched an eyebrow. "That would be impossible."
Draco laughed under his breath and disappeared into the corridor with Pansy, the train doors sliding shut behind them.
For a moment, the compartment was filled only with the fading sound of their footsteps and the rhythmic clatter of the train.
Theo looked around, then grinned. "Right. Now that our benevolent rulers have left, shall we talk about something interesting?"
Tracey snorted. "Define interesting."
He thought for a moment, grinning wider. "Something that'll get us detention before October."
Alden leaned his head against the window, watching the clouds streak past. "We're already Slytherins, Theo," he murmured. "Give it five minutes."
Laughter broke out again, easy and full. And for the first time in months — through the rumours, the headlines, the bloodlines and suspicions — Alden let himself forget. Just a boy on a train, surrounded by friends, heading home.
The compartment had settled into a mellow quiet after Draco and Pansy's departure. Outside, the countryside rolled by in a haze of fading gold; the rhythmic clatter of wheels against track filled the space between words. Tracey had stretched out, feet propped on Theo's trunk, while Theo absentmindedly flicked a deck of Exploding Snap cards from one hand to the other. Daphne had set her book aside entirely, her attention fixed, as it often was, on Alden.
It was Tracey who broke the silence." So," she began, her voice light but cautious, "are you— you know—"Theo looked up. "Still half-dead?""Theo," Daphne said warningly, but the concern in her eyes mirrored the question.
Alden's lips twitched, though his tone was calm. "I'm not half-dead."
Tracey crossed her arms, unconvinced. "You were when we last saw you. Pomfrey said you looked like you'd tried to wrestle a dragon."
"I won," Alden murmured dryly.
Theo leaned forward, serious now despite himself. "How bad was it, really?"
For a moment, Alden didn't answer. The sound of the train filled the pause — the hiss of steam, the faint rattle of glass in its frame. He glanced down at his hand, flexing his fingers once, watching the faint tremor that came and went like an afterthought.
"Bad enough," he said at last. "Ribs — half of them gone or cracked. Lung punctured. Shrapnel everywhere. Burns from something that shouldn't exist outside theory. I couldn't breathe right for a week."
Theo's brow furrowed. Tracey went still. Daphne, silent, reached for her wand instinctively — a habit of empathy more than action.
Alden gave a faint shrug. "Pomfrey and Snape did what they could. Dumbledore had half the infirmary warded for weeks."
Theo tried to make his tone flippant, though it didn't quite land. "And now?"
"Now," Alden said quietly, "I'm… mostly fine. Little things, that's all."
Tracey tilted her head. "Like?"
Alden's gaze drifted toward the window again. "Cold weather makes the ribs ache. Long duels make the hand shake." He flexed his left fingers again — the faintest tremor rippling through the motion. "There's some scarring — silver, mostly. Back, arms. They catch the light sometimes. Looks worse than it feels."
Daphne's voice came softly. "And the burns?"
"Still there." His tone was matter-of-fact, but the quiet under it carried weight. "The nerves didn't heal completely. Sometimes I can feel the heat through fabric, even if there isn't any."
Theo grimaced. "That sounds awful."
"It's… tolerable," Alden said. "The real trouble was the magic afterward. Everything felt wrong for a while — like casting through someone else's hand. Spells stuttered or refused to come at all. I've only just started using them again this week."
Tracey frowned. "You mean you haven't been practicing all summer?"
"I've been recovering, Trace."
"You? Sitting still?" She smirked faintly. "I'll believe that when the Dark Lord joins a knitting club."
He didn't laugh, but the ghost of a smile crossed his face. "I had Crix to make sure of it. He's worse than Pomfrey when he's worried."
Theo leaned back, whistling low. "So all that time, you were actually… doing nothing."
"Not nothing," Alden said. "Reading. Thinking. Trying to remember what it feels like to breathe without pain."
The way he said it — quiet, unadorned — stole the humor from the air. Even Theo's grin faded.
Daphne's eyes softened. "But you are better?"
He looked at her then, really looked — and for the first time since stepping onto the train, there was warmth in his expression. "Better," he said. "Not whole, maybe. But enough."
Theo nodded slowly. "Enough to duel if you had to."
Alden's lips curved faintly. "Always."
That seemed to satisfy him; he leaned back, stretching with a groan. "Good. I was worried you'd go soft."
"Hardly," Alden murmured.
Tracey studied him for a moment longer. "You really scared everyone, you know. The papers made it sound like you were—"
"I know what they said," he interrupted gently, and that was the end of it.
The air shifted again — not heavy, but thoughtful. Outside, the light dimmed, dusk beginning to pool in the corners of the sky. The train curved northward, the hum of magic in its rails deepening as it neared Scotland.
Theo eventually broke the silence, voice softer than usual. "Still," he said, "I'm glad you're alive. I mean, I'd never admit it publicly, but you make Slytherin House a bit less boring."
Tracey grinned, the tension dissolving. "Touching. You'll make a fine eulogy someday."
Daphne said nothing; she only smiled faintly, watching Alden's reflection in the window — the way the fading light caught on the faint lines along his neck, the barely visible mark of healing that hadn't quite finished.
Alden turned slightly, catching her gaze in the glass, and for a heartbeat, the noise of the train fell away.
"I'm fine," he said again, quietly this time. "Really."
And though none of them said it aloud, they knew that was a lie — or at least, not the whole truth. But for now, it was enough. The train carried on, the world beyond their small compartment falling into twilight. And within it, surrounded by the people who had always seen him first and the rumors last, Alden Dreyse finally let himself lean back, exhale, and simply be.
The train tilted gently as it curved along the rails, the sunlight outside slipping into gold. Their laughter from moments earlier lingered faintly in the compartment — warm, easy, a kind of music all its own. Theo had stretched his legs out again, Tracey was idly tapping her nails on the window glass, and Alden sat quietly, the glow of evening painting his profile in amber.
It was Daphne who broke the lull.
Her voice came softly, hesitant at first. "Actually," she began, glancing toward Alden, "I was going to wait until later, but…"
Theo cracked one eye open suspiciously. "That tone never means anything good."
"Quiet, Theo," Tracey said, though her grin betrayed her curiosity.
Daphne ignored them both, reaching into her satchel. "It's not anything huge. Just— it felt right, after what you said."
Alden raised a brow. "What do I say?"
"That you've started using magic again," she replied, her fingers moving with careful precision as she pulled out a small, rectangular box wrapped in silver paper. "And that you're— better. I thought this was the right time."
Theo let out a low whistle. "Oh, Merlin. I swear if that's another cursed locket, I'm leaving."
Daphne rolled her eyes, though a faint flush crept up her cheeks. "It's not cursed. And it's not for you."
Tracey leaned forward, smirking. "Then by all means, do carry on."
Daphne ignored them both this time, her attention fixed on Alden. "It's for you."
Alden blinked, setting his book aside. "You already gave me something, Daphne."
"I know," she said quickly, fingers worrying the edge of the ribbon. "But you said the ring I gave you — the one from May — shattered in the graveyard. When it—" She hesitated, searching for the right word. "When it protected you."
A flicker passed over Alden's face — memory and something deeper. He remembered the light bursting from his hand, the sound of metal splintering as the curse struck. He remembered the pain and the sudden stillness that followed. He hadn't realised, until now, that she must have known what that meant.
He reached forward, gently taking the box. "You didn't have to—"
"I wanted to," she said. "So… open it before I change my mind."
Theo grinned, sitting up straight. "Oh, this I've got to see."
Alden tore the silver paper carefully — deliberate, unhurried — as though the wrapping itself deserved respect. Inside lay a small velvet box. When he lifted the lid, the compartment fell utterly silent.
The ring inside was delicate, forged from polished silver, its band traced with faint runic etchings that glimmered faintly under the dim light. At its center sat a gem — blue as winter's heart, pale and translucent, shimmering like a captured breath of frost. It was simple, elegant, and unmistakably crafted for him.
Theo let out a long, impressed whistle. "Blimey. That's more romantic than anything I've ever seen."
Tracey elbowed him hard. "That's because no one would trust you with jewelry."
Daphne stammered slightly, still watching Alden. "I just wanted you to have it. So that— if anything happens again— you'll have something that protects you. Like before."
Alden's fingers brushed the ring's surface. It was cool to the touch, humming faintly with the kind of quiet magic that spoke of care, not power. He studied it for a long moment, the train's motion reflected in the gem — a moving ribbon of light and shadow.
Then he smiled, small and genuine. "It's beautiful."
Daphne blinked, startled by the softness in his tone.
He slipped it onto his finger — the gem caught the sun just as the train burst from a tunnel, and for an instant, the light danced against the glass like a heartbeat. "Thank you, Daphne."
Her cheeks turned faintly pink, but she met his gaze without looking away. "Good," she murmured, trying to sound composed. "Now you can stop nearly dying every other term."
"No promises," he said quietly, though the edge of his mouth curved.
Theo groaned dramatically. "Unbelievable. I nearly lose my eyebrows every other week, and nobody gives me a protection ring."
Tracey smirked. "Maybe because we want you to lose them."
The compartment filled with laughter again, echoing faintly through the corridor. The sound was easy, warm — like the sunlight slanting across the seats, like the way old friendships always survived summer's distance.
Alden turned the ring once more, watching how the faint blue light chased his pulse. For a moment, the memory of the graveyard — the pain, the screams, the darkness — felt farther away than it had in months.
Daphne was watching him quietly; that calm Greengrass composure softened by something she didn't name.
And Alden, for all his weariness and scars and the shadows waiting beyond the school gates, found himself smiling — a small, true thing.
"Really," he said, almost to himself. "It's perfect."
Outside, the train thundered north, toward Hogwarts, the scent of steam and autumn drifting through the open window. Inside, the laughter of six Slytherins — weary, proud, and unbroken — lingered like a promise.