Y/n's trunk sat heavy against her leg, the leather scuffed and worn in a way that felt like a lie. She'd bought it secondhand in Diagon Alley, pretending to know what she was doing, pretending the weight of it wasn't already pressing against her ribs.

Outside, the platform was alive with the chaos of reunion. Families embracing, owls screeching in their cages, the distant clang of the carriages being hitched. Steam curled around the station lamps, thick as fog, and somewhere beyond it all, the castle rose against the grey sky—ancient, watchful, wrong.

She could feel it. The moment she stepped off the train, the magic of the place had brushed against her skin like a current, testing her, tasting her.

It wasn't welcoming.

A tall figure cut through the crowd ahead—broad-shouldered, dark-haired, moving with the easy confidence of someone who'd never once doubted where he belonged. He paused at the edge of the platform, half-turning as if sensing something. His eyes swept the crowd, slow and deliberate, until they landed on her.

A beat. Two. His jaw tightened.