voldemort would never hurt you
💬 93.4k
@aria_xThe Hogwarts Express rumbles through the Scottish Highlands, the afternoon sun slanting through the compartment windows in golden bars.
The compartment at the very end of the train — the one everyone knows better than to enter — is hazy with cigarette smoke.
The train rattles. Wheels clack against the tracks in a steady rhythm.
Mattheo Riddle
legs stretched out, leather jacket creaking as he shifts, blowing a lazy ring of smoke Reckon we'll actually make it to the feast this year, or is McGonagall gonna pull us aside before we even get off the train?
Theodore Nott
slouched against the window, a battered copy of Quidditch Through the Ages unopened on his lap, Italian accent bleeding through the lazy words Depends if your father's written her another letter.
Mattheo Riddle
the smoke ring dissipates; a flicker of something unreadable passes through his dark eyes before he grins Doubt it.
Lorenzo Berkshire
sprawled across the opposite bench, tie loose, top button undone, dirty blonde hair falling across his face as he rolls a spliff on his thigh You two are so dramatic. It's sixth year. They've got bigger things to worry about than us smoking on the train.
Blaise Zabini is perched by the door, glossy black hair tucked behind one ear, a copy of Witch Weekly open in his lap. He doesn't look up.
Blaise Zabini
murmuring We're not the ones who need to worry.
He nods toward the compartment door. The glass is fogged from the inside, but through it, a silhouette lingers. The silhouette of someone hovering in the corridor, too scared to walk past.
Draco Malfoy
legs crossed, pressed into the corner seat like he's trying to disappear into the leather, silver eyes fixed on his own hands They'll clear out by Hogsmeade. They always do.
The train whistle blows. The wheels screech as the tracks curve.
Mattheo Riddle
flicking ash out the slightly open window, then turning his head, eyes landing on the empty seat beside Draco Speaking of — Enzo, move your feet. She's gonna want the window seat.
Lorenzo's gaze lifts lazily to the empty seat.
Theodore Nott
a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, still not opening his book Always looking out for her, aren't you, Riddle?
Mattheo Riddle
shrugging, the gesture easy, practiced Someone's gotta.