The compartment door slid open with a sharp clack, and the scent of rain drifted in before anyone spoke.
Draco Malfoy filled the doorway, pale hair gleaming under the swaying lantern, Pansy Parkinson close behind him with her usual air of dramatic exasperation. Draco's prefect badge caught the light as he brushed a bit of lint from his robes — a deliberate motion, meant to draw notice.
"Well," he announced grandly, "that was enlightening."
Theo raised an eyebrow from his slouched position opposite Alden. "Oh? Did you discover that the badge makes you more insufferable than usual?"
Draco ignored him, sinking into the empty seat beside Pansy, who was already dabbing a handkerchief at her nose. "Gryffindor's prefects," he began, each word soaked in disdain, "are Weasley and the Mudblood."
Tracey blinked. "Ron Weasley?"
"The very same," Draco said, leaning back. "I'm starting to think Dumbledore chooses them based on how irritating they'll look in a crowd. Weasley couldn't lead a herd of Cornish pixies."
Pansy gave a high, mirthless laugh. "And Granger," she added with relish, "has teeth like a bunny. If she's the model of Gryffindor discipline, we're doomed to a year of prefect patrols that smell like toothpaste and moral superiority."
Theo groaned. "You two should really go into journalism."
"Don't tempt them," Tracey muttered.
Draco continued undeterred, warming to the topic. "Hufflepuff's no better — Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbott. They looked ready to faint at the idea of telling anyone off. And for Ravenclaw…" He made a vague, disdainful gesture. "Goldstein and Patil. Hardly a surprise. She was giggling before the meeting even ended."
"Imagine," Theo said dryly, "prefects who smile."
Draco shot him a glare. "The point," he said, straightening his cuffs, "is that Slytherin remains the only house with standards."
Theo's grin sharpened. "Meaning yourself?"
"Meaning," Draco replied smoothly, "that I was chosen because I embody Slytherin values. Ambition. Discipline. Poise."
"Arrogance," Tracey supplied under her breath.
"Confidence," Draco corrected without missing a beat. "And I intend to use it responsibly."
Theo leaned toward Alden with a smirk. "That's what he says now. I give it a week before he starts hexing first-years for walking too loudly."
Alden, who had been quiet until then, finally looked up from the rain sliding down the window. "You're being generous," he said softly. "I give it three days."
Pansy huffed, though the corners of her mouth twitched. "You're all just jealous you didn't get picked."
Theo laughed outright. "Oh, I'd make a terrible prefect. Imagine me giving detentions. Half the house would mutiny."
Tracey pretended to think. "Half?"
Draco, clearly pleased with himself regardless, adjusted his badge again. "You can mock all you like, but we all know who'll have the Head of House's favor this year."
"Snape's always had a favorite," Theo said lazily. "It's just not you."
Alden's faint smile deepened, but he didn't rise to the bait. He'd missed this — the easy rhythm of Slytherin banter, the unspoken understanding beneath the sarcasm. It grounded him, almost like normality, though that word had long lost meaning for him.
Outside, the sky had begun to darken. The first droplets of rain tapped softly against the glass, and the train's pitch shifted — slowing as they drew closer to Hogsmeade. The compartment dimmed, lanternlight flickering gold across polished shoes and dark robes.
Draco sighed dramatically and stood, running a hand through his hair. "Prefect duties, you understand. Can't let Weasley think he runs the corridors."
"Tell him we said hello," Theo murmured.
"Tell him nothing," Pansy sniffed, rising beside Draco. "We don't speak to peasants."
Theo made a mock bow. "Your nobility astounds me."
Pansy shot him a look over her shoulder as she followed Draco out. "You could learn from it."
When the door shut behind them, the compartment felt oddly quieter — the hum of conversation replaced by the rhythmic rain and the steady beat of the train.
Theo exhaled. "If that badge doesn't get hexed off his chest by Halloween, I'll eat my wand."
Tracey smiled faintly. "You say that every year."
"And I'll keep saying it until it happens."
Alden turned back toward the window, watching the mountains loom dark through the mist, the reflection of his friends' laughter soft in the glass.
For the first time since the Prophet headlines, he let himself relax — just a little.
Tomorrow, the whispers would begin again. But for now, the world was only rain, and the familiar, quiet comfort of people who hadn't turned their backs.
The shriek of the whistle split the night, echoing off the mist-drenched hills. The train slowed with a long metallic sigh, the carriages hissing and trembling as it eased into the Hogsmeade platform. Rain sheeted down in steady silver lines, the world beyond the window a haze of lanternlight and shadow.
When Alden stepped out, the air hit cold and sharp against his face. The smell of rain, iron, and damp wood filled his lungs — unmistakably Scotland, unmistakably Hogwarts. Steam curled around his boots as he landed on the slick boards, Theo, Daphne, and Tracey following close behind.
They had all changed.
Theo stood taller than before, his limbs a little too long for his robes, his face narrower, older — the same quick eyes behind the mess of damp hair, darting about as if cataloguing every detail. His "weedy" frame had lengthened into something leaner, all restless energy and too much mind for one body.
Daphne looked much as she always had — poised, controlled, her blond hair tied neatly back and glistening with droplets. But there was something sharper about her this year, something in the way she held herself. Her brown eyes were cool as ever, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth as she adjusted the collar of her robes.
Tracey trailed beside her, coat drawn tightly across her chest, her long brown hair already darkened by the rain. Her gaze flicked around the platform with quiet irritation, as if cataloguing every reason she'd rather be anywhere else. But her eyes softened when she caught Alden's glance — loyal, steadfast, even if she'd never say it aloud.
Alden himself looked like a ghost pulled back from legend — silver-white hair cropped short, sharp lines of his face pale against the dark, rain-streaked sky. His uniform fit with almost military precision, trimmed with faint silver embroidery that caught the light as he moved. The rain slid down his cheekbones like mercury.
He took in the platform: the glow of lanterns against swirling mist, the line of carriages waiting in the rain, the press of students surging toward them. Somewhere in the distance, Hagrid's voice boomed faintly, calling the first years.
Up ahead, Draco and Pansy emerged from another carriage with Crabbe and Goyle lumbering behind. Draco looked thoroughly pleased with himself, his prefect badge gleaming proudly beneath his cloak's hood. He immediately began waving people aside, steering Crabbe and Goyle like human snowplows through the crush of younger students.
"Move aside, would you? Honestly, some people have no sense of priority," Draco drawled, his voice rising above the storm.
A small group of nervous second-years, clutching their trunks, tried to dart out of his way. One slipped on the wet boards, earning a bark of laughter from Pansy and an indulgent smirk from Draco.
Tracey watched, arms folded. "He'll never change."
Theo snorted, pulling his hood higher. "Give it five minutes before the badge's taken off him. Ten, if Snape's feeling merciful."
Daphne laughed softly, tucking a damp strand of hair behind her ear. "At least he's predictable."
"Predictable," Theo agreed, "and insufferable."
Alden said nothing. He stood a pace apart from them, eyes following the others without judgment, his expression unreadable. The rain caught in his lashes, and the lamplight painted a faint silver halo around him. The scene before him — carriages creaking, students shouting, laughter echoing through the fog — felt distant, as though he were watching from behind glass.
"Come on," Daphne said finally, touching his arm. "Before we freeze solid."
They moved together toward the line of waiting carriages. The thestrals were barely visible in the mist — shadows with movement, skeletal wings folding and flexing. Alden felt their presence before he saw them, the faint shift of air, the weight of something unseen but undeniably real.
Theo climbed in first, muttering something about hoping the carriages were charm-heated this year. Tracey followed, still grumbling under her breath about the cold.
Daphne paused, glancing back over her shoulder. Draco had already claimed a carriage for himself and his entourage, Crabbe and Goyle towering nearby like silent sentinels. She shook her head, a faint smile ghosting her lips. "I suppose it's fitting," she murmured. "The prefect in his royal chariot."
Alden's gaze lingered on the scene — Draco barking orders, the younger students scrambling aside — then he turned toward their own carriage. His tone was quiet, almost thoughtful.
"Power changes people," he said. "Even small power."
Theo leaned out of the carriage doorway, smirking. "You sound like Snape."
Alden stepped in after them, closing the door as the carriage jerked forward, wheels creaking against the rain-slick road. "Then maybe Snape's right."
Outside, the world blurred past in streaks of grey and silver. Through the fog, Hogwarts loomed on the horizon — towers rising through the mist like dark spires of memory.
The air inside the carriage was warm, close, humming faintly with the magic of its own motion. Tracey shivered once, then relaxed against the window, her reflection faint beside the streaks of rain.
And as the castle lights drew nearer, Alden found himself watching them — his friends, older now, stronger, more defined — realizing that this might be the last year they could still pretend they were just students.
Outside, the storm rolled on, and Hogwarts waited in the distance — ancient, eternal, and already whispering of what was to come.
Rain thrummed against the carriage roof like a thousand tapping fingers. The sound filled the space between words, a steady rhythm that felt almost alive.
Inside, the four of them sat wrapped in the soft, flickering light of the enchanted lantern that swung from the ceiling. The thestrals' hooves struck the cobblestone road in even intervals, the sound echoing faintly through the mist that pressed against the windows.
Theo lounged opposite Alden, arms crossed, and eyes narrowed. "Still don't see why you didn't get the badge," he said, his tone light but edged with irritation. "You're top of nearly every class — besides Potions, and that hardly counts with Snape fawning over you."
Alden didn't rise to it. His gaze was fixed on the rivulets of rain running down the glass, the warped reflection of his face cut by silver streaks. His voice, when he spoke, was quiet, almost detached.
"You know why, Theo. The Ministry can't have its supposed 'next Dark Lord' enforcing school rules. It wouldn't look good on the front page."
Tracey leaned forward, brow furrowed. "That's ridiculous," she said sharply, as though volume alone might make the world fairer. "They should be giving you a medal, not an investigation."
Theo nodded. "You fought him — for Merlin's sake, Alden, you fought Voldemort."
Alden's lips curved into something that might have been a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "And that's the problem," he murmured. "They can't admit he's back. If they do, they'll have to admit everything they ignored — all the signs, all the deaths they dismissed as accidents. So instead, they give the public a story they can stomach."
He turned from the window, meeting their eyes one by one. "The Lineage Integrity Commission gives them an easy target. Investigate the 'Grindelwald heir.' Pretend they're protecting society, when all they're really doing is deflecting fear."
For a moment, the only sound was the storm. The lanternlight swayed, casting thin gold shadows over their faces.
Daphne's voice broke the silence first — soft, measured, but carrying a note of something sad. "You really think that's all it is? Fear?"
Alden tilted his head slightly, considering. "Fear," he said, "and cowardice. They're two sides of the same coin. People will blame anyone if it means they don't have to face the truth. They'll trade justice for comfort, truth for illusion — as long as it keeps their world tidy."
Theo scoffed, running a hand through his hair. "Merlin, you sound like Snape again."
Alden's expression didn't change. "Snape understands it better than most. He's lived on the wrong side of their forgiveness for years."
Tracey glanced between them, her voice quieter now. "But what about you? What happens if they… if this Commission finds something to twist?"
Alden looked down at his hands, fingers tracing the faint lines of old scars beneath the fabric of his gloves. The light caught the faint glimmer of Daphne's ring on his finger — silver, blue, delicate.
"They'll find what they want to find," he said simply. "But I won't make it easy for them."
Theo's eyes flicked to the window, where shadows of the forest blurred past — dark trees, black earth, the faint shimmer of the lake beyond. "You've changed," he said after a moment, not unkindly. "Last year, you wanted to prove them wrong. Now you sound like you've already given up on them."
Alden exhaled, the breath misting faintly in the chill. "I haven't given up," he said. "I've just stopped expecting reason from a world that thrives on fear."
Outside, lightning flashed — a brief silver flare that illuminated the thestrals' wings through the fog. The carriage rocked slightly with the wind.
Daphne watched him closely. "You still believe it can change, though," she said quietly. "The way you talk — it's not anger. It's disappointment."
Alden looked at her — really looked — and something softened in his expression, some flicker of the boy he might've been before the world decided what he was meant to become.
"I used to think the world just needed proof," he said, voice barely above the rain. "Proof that darkness and light aren't enemies, that magic isn't good or evil. It's what you do with it that matters."
His gaze drifted back to the window, to the storm-slick reflection staring back at him. "But now… I think the world doesn't want proof. It wants safety. Stories where the heroes are pure, and the villains wear names they already fear."
No one spoke for a long time after that.
The rain beat harder against the roof, and the faint shapes of Hogwarts' towers began to rise from the mist ahead — dark, eternal, waiting.
Daphne's hand brushed his sleeve, light as a whisper. "Then we'll just have to change it ourselves," she said.
Theo made a quiet noise of agreement, Tracey nodded, and Alden's eyes flicked toward the castle.
"Maybe," he said softly. "Or maybe we'll just survive it."
The carriage wheels rolled on, the rhythm steady and unbroken, carrying them toward the gates and the storm-wrapped heart of the world that had already decided who he was.
The rain had softened to a steady murmur, a rhythmic drumming against the roof that filled the quiet. The lantern hanging from the carriage ceiling flickered, its golden light swaying over four faces — familiar, older, and drawn in the kind of stillness that comes only before saying something that matters.
Outside, the road climbed steadily, slick with water, the shadows of trees bending in the wind. Through the window, Hogwarts appeared and vanished between the rain — the faint glimmer of torchlight on its towers, the silhouette of its bridge cutting across the mist.
Inside, no one spoke for a long while.
Tracey was the first to break the silence, her voice soft but steady. She tugged at a strand of her damp hair, eyes fixed on the faint reflection of Alden in the glass. "You ready for it?"
Alden turned slightly, brow furrowing. "For what?"
"The whispers," she said, her tone matter-of-fact but edged with something close to worry. "Last year it was 'next Dark Lord.' This time, it'll be worse. You saw how they looked at you on the platform. People don't forget headlines that dramatic."
Theo leaned back, his usual smirk nowhere to be found. "She's right," he said quietly. "Half the school probably thinks you're cursed already. The other half just doesn't have the nerve to say it to your face."
The lanternlight caught Alden's features as he looked between them — the silver-white hair slightly tousled, the faint shadows beneath his eyes. His expression was unreadable, but there was a calm there that made the others uneasy, the kind of calm that comes from already expecting the worst.
"I've heard worse things," he said finally, voice even, almost tired. "Whispers can't hex me. Let them talk."
Daphne's eyes lingered on him, searching. "That's not the point," she said softly. "It's not about what they say — it's about what they'll do."
Theo frowned, arms crossing. "You think someone'll actually try something?"
Daphne hesitated, then nodded. "Fear makes people brave in the wrong ways. He's under investigation by the Ministry. That kind of attention… It's not going to make school any safer."
Tracey's fingers stilled in her hair. "They won't just whisper this year. Some of them will try to prove something. You know how it is — the pure-bloods that want to impress their parents, the Gryffindors who think they're doing the right thing."
Theo's mouth twisted. "Heroes in training, all of them."
Alden looked at his friends, the corners of his lips curving faintly — not amusement, exactly, but appreciation. He could feel the worry in the air, the unspoken tension threading through their words.
"I'll manage," he said simply.
"You shouldn't have to," Daphne murmured. Her tone was quiet, but it carried weight.
He turned to her, his expression softening. "I'm not naïve, Daphne. The world made up its mind about me before I even drew my wand. The least I can do is keep walking."
Her gaze held his, unwavering. "Then you won't walk alone."
Theo nodded, leaning forward slightly. "That's right. If anyone tries anything, they'll have to get through the four of us first. And I don't fancy anyone's chances."
Tracey managed a small laugh at that, but her eyes stayed on Alden. "We mean it, you know. It's not just talk."
Alden glanced around the carriage — at Theo's defiant grin, at Tracey's determined scowl softening with concern, at Daphne's quiet strength. The words he wanted to say caught in his throat for a moment.
Then he smiled — the kind of smile that was rare for him now, unguarded and real. "Daphne said it best," he said, his voice low but clear. "I'll be fine. I won't be alone. I have you."
The carriage jolted slightly as it crested the hill, and the four of them turned toward the window.
Through the rain, Hogwarts rose out of the darkness — ancient stone spires gleaming faintly in the stormlight, windows burning gold like scattered stars. The sight never failed to stir something old and complicated in all of them.
Theo exhaled, almost to himself. "Feels different this year, doesn't it?"
"Everything does," Alden murmured.
The rain blurred the castle's outline, the reflection shivering across the glass like a memory trying to hold its shape.
For a long moment, they sat in silence, the warmth of their shared presence holding back the chill. Outside, the hooves of the thestrals beat a steady rhythm — the pulse of inevitability — as the carriage carried them closer to the gates and into the waiting storm.