crawling back to you.

Summary.

The Hogwarts Express let out a loud whistle, steam billowing from its scarlet engine as students bustled along Platform 9¾, reuniting with friends, exchanging goodbyes with parents, and dragging trunks toward the train. The air hummed with anticipation, yet beneath the usual excitement, an unspoken tension lingered—one that had crept into conversations ever since the whispers of Voldemort's return had surfaced. Most dismissed them as the paranoia of a boy too deep in his own tragedy. But Mattheo Riddle knew better than to be so sure.

Seated in a compartment near the middle of the train, Mattheo leaned against the window, his sharp gaze fixed on the passing crowd outside. The rhythmic hum of the train beneath him did little to soothe the unease that had settled in his chest since last year's Triwizard Tournament. The sight of Harry Potter dragging Cedric Diggory's lifeless body back had shaken something deep inside him, something he had tried to ignore for years. A voice—a whisper—lingering at the edge of his thoughts, familiar yet elusive. His father's voice.

Lorenzo Berkshire and Theodore Nott sat across from him, the former slouching comfortably, his arms crossed over his chest, while Theodore flipped absentmindedly through a book on advanced defensive spells.

"So," Lorenzo drawled, breaking the silence, "another year of Potter's madness begins. What's the over-under on him screaming about You-Know-Who in the Great Hall before the week's up?"

Theodore smirked but didn't look up from his book. "Three days. Any later, and I'd be disappointed."

Mattheo exhaled sharply through his nose but said nothing. His friends could joke all they wanted—he understood why. It was easier to laugh than to acknowledge the creeping dread that clung to the air like a shadow.

In another compartment further down the train, Draco Malfoy sat with Blaise Zabini, Vincent Crabbe, and Gregory Goyle, their conversation animated as Draco recounted his summer in France. As always, he carried himself with effortless arrogance, though even he had been more on edge lately. His father had been acting strangely. His mother, even more so.

Pansy Parkinson and Daphne Greengrass had found their way into another compartment, one they soon realized was already occupied by Jules Black and Ginny Weasley. It was a coincidence neither party had expected nor particularly welcomed, but after an initial moment of silence, they had settled into an unspoken truce.

Jules sat by the window, her fingers lightly tracing patterns on the glass, pretending not to notice the way Pansy occasionally glanced her way. It wasn't hostility, per se, but rather curiosity—the kind reserved for enigmas. Jules had spent her years at Hogwarts mostly unnoticed, a Hufflepuff who kept to herself, never quite fitting into the expectations placed upon her surname.

Ginny, on the other hand, met Daphne's stare with a raised brow, as if daring her to say something. She wasn't the same quiet girl from her first year. A Slytherin through and through, she had learned quickly that power was better earned than given.

The train rumbled forward, speeding toward another year at Hogwarts, another year of secrets and suspicions.

Mattheo closed his eyes, the whisper in his mind growing fainter but never quite disappearing. No matter how much he wanted to deny it, the truth gnawed at him.

Harry Potter wasn't lying.