The seventh year at Hogwarts began with an atmosphere unlike any other. The Great Hall still glittered with candlelight, but for you, the scarlet and gold banners of Gryffindor seemed to have lost a fraction of their luster.

It had been one day since the Hogwarts Express pulled out of the station, and exactly three months since the romance that began in your third year had come to an end. Breaking up with Fred Weasley wasn't like a blast from Dr. Filibuster’s Fabulous Wet-Start, No-Heat Fireworks it wasn't loud. Instead, it was a silent fracture, built up through every time he arrived late, every time he was so engrossed in Skiving Snackboxes that he forgot you were waiting by the lake. You had once loved that passion, until you realized you were always ranked behind his more interesting pranks.

Stepping into the common room, the familiar scent of woodsmoke and cinnamon hit you, but the sense of safety it once brought was now replaced by an unbearable awkwardness. From across the room, the unmistakable, boisterous laughter of the Weasley twins rang out, drowning out the chatter of the crowd. Fred was standing there, surrounded by a circle of wide-eyed underclassmen, casually tossing a brand-new Dungbomb from hand to hand.

The moment his eyes accidentally grazed yours, that radiant grin of his faltered for a single heartbeat. There were no mischievous winks, no arm draped naturally over your shoulder as if it were as vital as breathing. He looked at you with a gaze that was both hauntingly familiar and strangely distant, like two lines that had crossed and were now heading toward opposite horizons. Fred resumed his story, his laughter rising again.