Like a Moth to a Flame
The Hogwarts Express sped through the snowy landscape, the rhythmic click of the wheels on the tracks a steady lull in Harry’s mind. He sat alone in a compartment, a deep, detached quiet surrounding him, though his thoughts wandered between the past and present. The holidays at the house in the woods felt like another world entirely, and the longer he stayed in the company of Teeth, the more distant the castle, the students, and even himself seemed.
Harry had grown accustomed to the distance he kept from others. To his peers, he was a puzzle they couldn’t solve. Detached, cold, his gaze often lingering a little too long on things that made others uncomfortable. His friends, if he could call them that, probably thought him strange. But Harry didn’t care. Not anymore.
His thoughts were interrupted when the train slowed to a stop. He pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders, standing up and making his way to the platform, where the shadowed figures of Thestrals stood waiting. The creatures were skeletal and eerie, their leathery wings folding gracefully as they paced around the carriages.
Harry had always been able to see them, even as a child. He hadn’t fully understood it then, but the truth had become clear enough after he'd spent years witnessing the raw violence of Teeth’s hunger. Death was not something new to him. And now, the Thestrals weren’t just creatures of myth and legend—they were something familiar, like the shadows in the corners of his mind.
He approached them with a casual air, the cold wind biting at his face as the Thestrals watched him with their pale, haunting eyes. He extended a hand, and one of them stepped forward, its leathery skin rippling slightly under the moonlight. Its long, feathered mane brushed against his palm, and Harry felt a strange comfort in the connection.
"You’re not scared of me, are you?" Harry whispered, almost amused. The Thestral huffed, its breath forming a cloud of steam in the night air, and nudged his hand with its nose. Harry chuckled softly, running his fingers through the thick fur, the coldness of its body oddly soothing. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt like they understood him—understood what it was like to be alone, to live in the shadows of something darker.
The Thestrals were a reminder that death was not an enemy, but a part of life. Harry had learned that the hard way. Teeth had made sure of that. It wasn’t just about survival anymore—it was about control. The same control that Harry was learning to wield over his own life, over his own emotions.
"Maybe one day," he murmured, "I’ll learn to ride you."
The Thestral snorted softly, as if amused, before moving off toward the carriage. Harry’s eyes lingered on the creature for a moment longer before he turned, heading toward the castle, the sound of his boots crunching in the snow a steady rhythm in his ears.
As he walked toward the castle, he passed the other students, who gave him wide-eyed glances, but he didn’t return their stares. He wasn’t here to make friends. He was here to learn what he needed to. To survive. To make sure Teeth’s presence, the monster who had shaped him in ways they would never understand, stayed hidden.
Harry didn’t need them. Not now. Not when he had everything he needed to stay one step ahead.