Steam curled in thick ribbons across the cobblestones, damp and heavy with the familiar scent of coal and magic. Students poured from the scarlet engine in waves—laughing, shouting, dragging trunks behind them like reluctant pets.

Overhead, the sky was a pale, washed-out blue. The kind that promised autumn was already creeping in at the edges.

And somewhere in the middle of it all, you pulled out your phone.

The screen lit up. Instagram opened. And your thumb hovered over the little icon that held the entire castle's worth of thoughts, complaints, and 2am confessions.

Notes.

You'd barely even looked at it yet. But already, the notifications were stacking up. Pansy had posted something about the train ride being "unnecessarily long." Daphne had replied with a single heart. Hermione had posted a reminder about sixth-year schedules, tagged with a very pointed "we are NOT missing breakfast again."

And then—

You scrolled a little further.

But you knew exactly who it was from.

You hadn't even posted anything yet.

And yet there it was. Sitting in your feed. Quiet. Sharp. Waiting.

Theo Nott had already started.