Not Today

September 1st, 1998
4:30 AM

Harry stared at the dark wood of the ceiling attentively as if it would move any second. His eyes traced the knots and whorls in the wood, shapes that had grown familiar over the summer. The small bedroom in Number 12 Grimmauld Place was still alien to him, despite the time he’d spent there. It wasn’t home, not really. He turned his head slightly, looking around the dimly lit room. Staring back at him were Sirius’ posters of Muggle girls in bikinis, their glossy smiles frozen in time. He had never bothered trying to take them down; it felt almost sacrilegious, as though removing them would erase Sirius’ presence completely. Interspersed with those were his own posters of Muggle bands he loved dearly, relics from his childhood that felt like echoes from a past life.

Harry sighed heavily. He was exhausted but unable to put himself back to sleep, so he lay on his bed, eyes wide open, thoughts swirling like a storm. In just a few hours, he’d have to be up to meet the Weasleys and Hermione for breakfast. They had planned to catch the train to Hogwarts together as they did every year. Yet this time, the thought of returning filled him with a sense of dread. Hogwarts had been his home for so long, a sanctuary away from the Dursleys, a place of wonder and discovery. But now, it was also a place of pain, haunted by memories of war, loss, and the ever-present shadow of Voldemort. He had died of course but his memory lived on in the back of his mind, pulling and tugging on joyful moments.

The battle might be over, but the scars it left were still fresh. The Great Hall would never feel the same without the absent faces of Fred, Remus, Tonks, and so many others. Part of him wished he could close that chapter of his life for good, leave the war behind, and escape the relentless press and the prying eyes of the wizarding world that seemed to watch his every move. He longed for normalcy, for a life where he wasn’t the Boy Who Lived or the Chosen One, but just Harry. This would never happen of course but wasn’t it nice to dream?

He turned on his side and pulled the covers closer, seeking comfort in their warmth. The idea of staying in bed, of not going anywhere, was immensely appealing. He had mentioned as much to Hermione and Ron, the only two people who truly understood the weight he carried. They had gone ballistic, of course. Ron had stared at him in disbelief, his ears turning red the way they always did when he was upset. Hermione had launched into a tirade about the importance of finishing their education, about how they deserved a year of peace and happiness after everything they had been through. She understood his reasons—of course she did, she always did—but she was insistent that they should have a proper final year at Hogwarts. They all deserved that closure, she had argued, and that plan, unfortunately, had Harry included.

Harry knew they were right. A part of him craved that last year of normalcy, a chance to experience the everyday life of a student without the looming threat of darkness. But he also knew that returning to Hogwarts would mean facing his memories head-on, confronting the ghosts of his past that lingered in every corridor and classroom. He wasn’t sure he was ready for that. Still, the thought of disappointing Ron and Hermione, of abandoning them when they had stood by him through everything, was unbearable. They were his family, the closest he had ever come to having one, and he couldn’t let them down.

He closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep. The bed creaked slightly as he shifted, and he let out a slow breath, trying to clear his mind. As he lay there, the faint sounds of the house settling around him, Harry allowed himself a small glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, this year could be different. Maybe they could find some semblance of peace amidst the chaos. The thought was enough to soothe him, if only a little, and as his breathing slowed, he finally drifted into a restless sleep, his dreams filled with the distant echoes of laughter and the soft rustling of leaves in the Forbidden Forest.

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The laughter grew more and more until Harry was almost certain that the person he was hearing in his dreams wasn’t laughing anymore but crying and begging. He couldn’t make out who the voice belonged to at first but then he saw it. A strikingly familiar blond head of hair came into view and even though he couldn’t see the person’s face, he knew exactly who it belonged to.
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He shifted in his bed, trying to find a comfortable position, when all of a sudden, he felt a hand grasp at his shoulder. His eyes snapped open, and he sat up quickly, instinctively grabbing the hand on his shoulder with a harsh grip. A muffled yelp met his ears before a blob of orange came into view. Harry’s vision was still blurry, but he blinked rapidly, loosening his grip when he saw the familiar figure in front of him.

“Merlin’s beard, Harry! You almost took my arm off!” Ron exclaimed, rubbing his wrist with an exasperated expression. His red hair was tousled, and his eyes were wide with surprise. Next to him, Hermione was standing with her arms crossed, shaking her head, her brow furrowed with concern. She moved toward Harry’s nightstand, picking up his glasses and holding them out to him.

“Sorry, mate,” Harry mumbled, feeling a flush of embarrassment and guilt. His heart was still pounding from the adrenaline, and he could feel a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead.

Ron shrugged, his face relaxing into a lopsided grin. “S’alright, I didn’t realize you were still so jumpy.” His voice was casual, but there was an undercurrent of worry that Harry didn’t miss.

Harry didn’t respond, just reached out and took his glasses from Hermione. He slid them on, blinking as the room came into sharp focus. He saw Hermione’s face first, her expression one of deep concern. She looked more mature somehow, as if the weight of everything they’d been through had left its mark. Her eyes held a wisdom that belied her years, and Harry couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy at how she seemed to have grown into herself so confidently.

“You okay?” Hermione asked, her voice soft but laced with unmistakable worry. She studied him closely, her eyes searching his face for any sign of distress.

He nodded, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just had a weird dream, I guess.” He tried to sound nonchalant, but the slight tremor in his voice gave him away.

Hermione didn’t press him, but her eyes remained watchful. “Why are you here, anyway?” Harry asked, trying to change the subject. “Didn’t we agree to meet at the Burrow?”

Ron exchanged a quick glance with Hermione before answering. “Mate, it’s already 10:30,” he said, his tone light but edged with urgency.

“What?” Harry said, his voice thick with disbelief. He rubbed his eyes, certain he had only been asleep for an hour or so. The clock on the wall, however, confirmed Ron’s words. He had slept through the entire morning.

“Yeah, we were getting worried when you didn’t show up,” Ron continued, shrugging as if to say he hadn’t minded coming over to check on Harry. “Figured you might have overslept or something.”

Harry shrugged, unconcerned by the fact that his friends had been worried. “Right, whatever,” he muttered, trying to hide his indifference. “Just give me a minute to get dressed.”

He ushered Ron and Hermione out of his room, closing the door behind them. What the hell was that dream? The screams and the begging and Malfoy? Alone, he rushed to his closet, pulling out a pair of loose denim jeans and his favorite band T-shirt, a well-worn Radiohead band shirt that he had bought at a charity shop that brought a small sense of comfort. He slipped on a plain black hoodie and a pair of skate shoes, tugging the laces tight. After a moment’s thought, he slung his messenger bag over his shoulder, grabbed his wand from under his pillow and tucked it in his waistband before pulling his school trunk out from under the bed. He tried his best to ignore whatever the hell his dream was and continued on.

As he glanced around the room, he felt a pang of nostalgia mixed with anxiety. Returning to Hogwarts still didn’t feel right, but he knew he couldn’t back out now. He took a deep breath and made his way downstairs, where Ron and Hermione were waiting. They were halfway down the stairs, and together they helped him levitate his trunk, guiding it with their wands until they reached the living room.

Harry stopped in front of the fireplace, staring at the green flames flickering within. They cast an eerie light that danced on the walls, reminding him of countless journeys to the Burrow, to the Ministry, and beyond. Ron stepped into the fireplace first, placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder briefly as he passed. Harry watched as Ron grabbed a handful of Floo powder, tossed it into the flames, and disappeared in a flash of green light, taking Harry’s trunk with him.

Harry stood there, feeling the heat from the flames on his face. He could sense Hermione’s eyes on him, her gaze steady and knowing. It was as if she could see straight through him, into the doubts and fears he kept buried. He turned to look at her, meeting her eyes.

“It’ll be alright,” she said softly, her voice filled with a quiet assurance that Harry wished he could feel. Her words were meant to be comforting, but Harry felt a familiar tightening in his chest, the uncertainty gnawing at him.

He said nothing, just nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak, afraid his voice might betray the swirling emotions inside him. He hoped, desperately, that what she was saying would be at least half true. He took a deep breath, steeling himself, and stepped into the fireplace. He could feel Hermione’s presence beside him, a steadying force.

Looking up at her, he managed a small smile. She immediately mirrored his action, her eyes softening with relief. In that moment, he felt a flicker of hope, a reminder that no matter what happened, they would face it together.

Harry grabbed a fistful of the gray powder from the small pot on the mantel. He tossed it into the flames, which roared up instantly, turning a brilliant emerald green. With a deep breath, he called out the familiar words, his voice clear and strong.

“King’s Cross Station!” he shouted, feeling the magic swirl around him. The world tilted, and in the blink of an eye, he was gone, whisked away by the green flames, leaving Grimmauld Place behind.
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The smell of smoke filled Harry’s nose as he made his way through the all-too-familiar train platform. The mingled scents of the steam engine, the warm scent of butter from the trolley, and the distinct smell of metal from the tracks that ran beneath the train filled the gloomy morning air. His eyes swept over the bustling scene around him, a sight he had witnessed so many times before but which now felt almost surreal. The sound of families saying their final goodbyes echoed through the platform, parents giving last-minute hugs and advice, younger siblings tugging on robes, waving eagerly. Harry watched as one mother knelt to straighten her daughter’s hat, her voice a soft murmur lost in the cacophony. He felt a pang of something—jealousy, perhaps?—twist in his chest. Somehow, seeing all these happy children, so full of hope and excitement, made him feel worse than he had earlier.

Maybe it was the realization that he’d never felt the same untainted joy these younger students did. The magic of the Hogwarts Express had worn off years ago, overshadowed by the weight of responsibility and the shadow of Voldemort. For Harry, the train had been an escape from Privet Drive, yes, but never a true sanctuary. He had always been different, always singled out by fate. Now, as he looked around the platform, he found himself subconsciously scanning for danger, searching for something amiss, something that would confirm his suspicion that he was never meant to have a normal life.

He found nothing and sighed, trying to shake off the sense of unease. Maybe it was just nerves. Maybe it was the remnants of all those years spent waiting for the other shoe to drop. Maybe it was the fact that he knew he was subconsciously searching for a certain someone to make his appearance.

“Come on, let’s board already,” Hermione said, snapping him out of his thoughts. She was standing next to Ron, her arms crossed impatiently, her prefect badge gleaming in the morning light.

Harry nodded and turned to say his goodbyes to the Weasley family. Molly enveloped him in a tight, almost desperate hug, the kind that made him feel both loved and guilty at the same time. She pulled back, her eyes searching his face, as if trying to read the thoughts he kept hidden. “Take care, Harry,” she said softly, her voice filled with concern. Harry managed a small smile and nodded.

As he turned to follow Hermione and Ron toward the train, he noticed a subtle shift in the atmosphere around him. It was as if, all at once, everyone on the platform had realized he was there. Whispers rippled through the crowd, eyes darting in his direction. People parted to make way for him, a path forming through the throng like the splitting of the Red Sea. Harry kept his head down, shaking it slightly in frustration. He had hoped, foolishly perhaps, that after the war, he could just blend in, be one of the crowd. He longed for a day where he wasn’t the center of attention.

He followed Ron and Hermione up the steps of the train, the familiar clatter of their feet against metal echoing in his ears. Inside, the corridors were already buzzing with students finding their compartments, exchanging summer stories, and laughing together. It didn’t take long before the trio found an empty compartment to settle into. Harry let Hermione and Ron enter first, then slid the door shut behind him, blocking out the noise of the bustling train.

Ron and Hermione sat down together on one side, their shoulders brushing. Harry took the seat across from them, feeling the space between them keenly. It made sense, of course, for them to sit together—they were dating, after all—but that didn’t stop the wave of nausea that rolled over him. The sight of their closeness reminded him of how alone he felt, especially after his breakup with Ginny. Despite his love for Ron and Hermione, being with them sometimes highlighted the emptiness inside him. They were a pair now, and Harry felt like the odd one out.

He closed his eyes and leaned back against the seat, hoping to drift off and sleep through most of the journey. Maybe in dreams, he could escape the swirling thoughts that plagued him. He tried to focus on the rhythmic clacking of the train as it began to move, the gentle rocking that had always been soothing. But the attempt at peace was short-lived. A nagging thought tugged at the back of his mind, pulling him back to the present.

“Where’s Ginny?” he asked suddenly, sitting up straight. He hadn’t seen her board the train, and a flash of worry passed through him.

Ron, who had been in the middle of a conversation with Hermione, turned to him. “She wanted to talk to Dad about Merlin only knows what,” Ron replied, shrugging it off casually. Harry nodded, reassured but still uneasy. He slouched back in his seat, trying to relax again, but the feeling of restlessness wouldn’t leave him.

He slouched back in his seat, trying to relax again, but the feeling of restlessness wouldn’t leave him. Suddenly, Ron broke the silence. “Will you quit doing that?” Ron’s voice was sharp, and Harry opened his eyes, startled by the sudden outburst.

“Doing what?” Harry snapped back, annoyance prickling at him. He was tired of being watched, tired of his every emotion being analyzed.

“Acting like this is the worst thing that’s happened,” Ron said, his brows furrowing. There was frustration in his voice, but Harry could also hear the concern underneath. The comment only made Harry’s irritation flare up.

“Well, it is pretty bad,” Harry retorted. “I didn’t want to come back, Ron. You know that, both of you do. Tell me one good reason why we should be going back.” His voice rose slightly, the pent-up anger and sadness spilling out.

Ron and Hermione exchanged a glance, and Harry could see the concern in their eyes, the way they were trying to find the right words to say. Hermione leaned forward, her expression earnest. “Harry, we know it’s hard. But we deserve this, don’t we? A chance to finish school properly, to have a year where we’re not fighting for our lives? Don’t you want to know what it’s like to just be a student for once?”

Harry shook his head, the words not enough to soothe the ache inside him. “I don’t know if I can do that,” he admitted quietly. “Everything’s different now. I’m different. And every corner of that castle has a memory, some of them I don’t think I can face again for a second time.”

Ron leaned forward, his voice softer than usual. “We get it, mate. Really, we do. But maybe... maybe it’s not just about what we’re leaving behind. Maybe it’s about what we still have. We’ve got each other, and that counts for something, doesn’t it?”

Harry looked at them, his two best friends, and felt a flicker of something warm in his chest. They were right, of course. They had been through so much together, had faced the darkness side by side. If they could find a way to move forward, maybe he could too. He didn’t know if it would be easy, didn’t know if he could ever truly put the past behind him, but he was willing to try. For them. For himself. And maybe, just maybe, for the hope of a future where the shadows of his past didn’t dictate his every step.

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Harry was staring out of the train window, watching the scenery blur by, when the compartment door slid open. He turned to see Ginny standing there, her red hair catching the light, framing her face in a way that momentarily took his breath away. She smiled, a hint of shyness in her expression, as she stepped inside.

“Mind if I join you?” Ginny asked, her voice light but careful, as though testing the waters. Harry shrugged, offering a small smile.

“Sure, take a seat,” he replied, trying to sound casual. He glanced over at Ron, whose face had stiffened slightly. Despite everything, Ron still hadn’t come to terms with the fact that he and Ginny had broken up. The tension in the air was palpable, an unspoken awkwardness lingering between them.

Ginny sat down next to Hermione, who gave her a supportive smile. “How was your summer?” Hermione asked, trying to steer the conversation to safer ground.

“It was alright,” Ginny said, glancing briefly at Harry before looking away. “Busy with training, you know.” Her words were friendly, but there was a distance in her tone, a barrier Harry could feel but not cross. He nodded, pretending to be absorbed in a thread on his hoodie.

Ron, on the other hand, was still watching them both, his brows furrowed. He looked like he was about to say something, but Hermione shot him a warning look, and he closed his mouth, crossing his arms instead. Harry could almost hear the thoughts running through Ron’s head, the disbelief that his best friend and his sister weren’t together anymore.

Harry shifted uncomfortably, the tension pressing on him like a weight. He glanced out the window again, trying to distract himself. His mind wandered, inevitably, to Draco Malfoy. The dreams had been so vivid, so unsettling. Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, that Malfoy needed his help. It was strange, really—he and Draco had never been close, had often been enemies, but the urgency in the dreams felt real, as if Malfoy was reaching out to him through the distance that had always been between them.

Ginny’s laughter at something Hermione said pulled him back to the present, but Harry’s thoughts remained clouded. There was an unease gnawing at him, an unspoken question about what awaited them at Hogwarts. He knew he should be focusing on the people around him, on Ron and Ginny and Hermione, but his mind kept drifting back to those gray eyes in his dreams, filled with fear and something else Harry couldn’t quite place.

Conversation continued in the train compartment and they were even joined by Neville and Luna later on. The initial tension that was there soon dissolved into genuine chatter among themselves. Harry only replied when he was spoken to, the others must have realized that he didn’t want to talk and much to his appeal the conversation flowed around him. He listened as Ginny and Hermione discussed their plans for the upcoming Quidditch season, Ron chiming in with his own strategies and tips. Neville was excitedly talking about his new Herbology project, his eyes lighting up as he described the rare plants he hoped to find in the Forbidden Forest. Luna, as usual, contributed with her dreamy insights, speculating about the existence of creatures no one else had ever heard of.

Harry appreciated the normalcy of it all, the sound of his friends' voices filling the compartment. It was like a balm to his frayed nerves, soothing the tension that had coiled within him since he boarded the train. He managed a few smiles and nods, giving the occasional one-word answer when directly asked a question, but mostly he was content to remain on the fringes of the conversation, an observer rather than a participant.

The others seemed to sense his need for space and didn’t press him, which Harry was grateful for. He was still distracted, his thoughts occasionally drifting back to Malfoy and the haunting dreams that seemed more like memories than anything his mind could conjure. Even surrounded by friends, he felt a sense of isolation, a wall between him and the happiness that filled the compartment. He couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever feel truly at ease again, free from the shadows that clung to his thoughts.

As the train rattled on, the chatter continued to swirl around him, comforting in its familiarity. Harry leaned back in his seat, allowing the warmth of his friends’ presence to wash over him, even as his mind remained elsewhere, caught in the half-light of his uneasy thoughts. He knew that whatever awaited him at Hogwarts, he would face it with these people beside him. For now, that was enough.