A Scent Of Something Else.
The train rattled beneath him, the dim light of the corridor flickering as students shuffled into their compartments. Their voices blurred together, excitement thick in the air, but Harry barely paid them any mind.
Draco had expected him. His usual group had left space for him, a silent assumption that he would take his place among them like always.
Harry walked past them without a word.
It wasn't that he disliked them—he didn’t dislike much of anything, really. But their world, their chatter, the expectation that he would fit into their mold of power and prestige—it had begun to wear at him. They saw only a reflection of what they wanted, an illusion he had carefully constructed.
They never really saw him.
So he kept walking.
The train’s lanterns cast long shadows against the doors as he moved, compartments filled with students laughing, talking, existing in a way that had never quite belonged to him. And then—
An empty one.
No.
Not empty.
Harry paused at the threshold, fingers barely grazing the door handle as his gaze swept inside.
A man lay slumped in the corner, his breathing slow and even, face half-obscured by the folds of his worn cloak. His scent was different. Not wrong, not unpleasant—just other.
Harry’s pupils constricted, then widened again.
Something inside him, something instinctive and old, hummed in recognition.
Not quite prey.
Not quite predator.
Something in between.
A beast beneath the skin.
Harry stepped inside.
The compartment door slid shut behind him, locking out the rest of the train, the chatter, the weight of expectation. He moved soundlessly, slipping into the seat opposite the slumbering professor.
For a moment, he simply watched him.
Listened.
Breathed in the scent of something that was not entirely human.
A sharp smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
This year would be interesting.