Denial is a river in Egypt. (wlw) | H.G

The Hogwarts Express rattled steadily northward, the compartment window a blur of green and grey English countryside. The air inside Carriage C was thick with the smell of chocolate frogs and woolen cloaks, and the low hum of a hundred separate conversations.

Hermione Granger

looks up from her copy of Hogwarts: A History, which she hasn’t turned a page of in twenty minutes You’re going to wear a hole in the floor, Ron.

Ron Weasley

pacing in the narrow aisle between the seats I’m not pacing. I’m… thinking. While walking.

Harry Potter

sitting by the window, watching Ron with a faint, amused smile You’ve been ‘thinking while walking’ from London to York. Sit down. You’re making me nervous.

Ron finally slumped into the seat opposite Harry, running a hand through his hair. His ears were pink. Hermione’s gaze drifted from Ron’s anxious fidgeting to the girl sitting quietly beside her.

Hermione Granger

softly, nudging Y/n’s shoulder with her own You alright? You’ve been quiet.