The Great Hall felt different this year. There was laughter here and there, but it was thinner, nervous, like people were trying to convince themselves nothing outside the castle walls was happening. At the Gryffindor table, you sat between Harry and Hermione, your bag still slung over your shoulder after rushing from the library.

“You’re late,” Ron said through a mouthful of shepherd’s pie.

“You could’ve saved me a roll,” you replied, sliding into your seat.

“I did,” Harry said, passing it over without looking up from the Daily Prophet. The front page had another grim headline — another “mysterious death” the Ministry refused to explain properly. You could tell he’d been staring at it since breakfast.

Hermione caught your eye and mouthed, don’t ask right now.

Across the table, Ginny was teasing Dean, trying to drag everyone back into lighter conversation. Neville leaned in to tell you about a plant in Greenhouse Three that had exploded into blue pollen during class. You laughed, but you kept stealing glances at Harry.

Later, in the common room, you found him by the window, ignoring his homework and watching the snow fall onto the dark grounds.

“You’re not going to catch Draco Malfoy by staring out into the blizzard,” you said, leaning on the arm of the couch.

His jaw tightened. “You don’t understand—he’s up to something.”

“Then let the professors deal with it,” you said.

He shot you a look. “It’s never that simple. You’ve been here long enough to know that.”

You sighed, dropping down onto the couch beside him. “You’ve been distant, Harry. Even more than usual. I’m your friend — since first year, remember? Before the Triwizard, before the prophecy, before any of it. You can talk to me.”

For a moment, it seemed like he might actually say something, but Ron and Hermione entered mid-argument about Slughorn’s homework, followed by Seamus loudly complaining about the Chudley Cannons’ losing streak. The room filled with warmth and noise, and the moment passed.

But that night, when everyone else was asleep, you found yourself sitting in front of the fire with him, no one else around. He finally spoke, his voice low.

“If anything happens this year, I don’t want you anywhere near it. Not again. Not like last time.”

You remembered the Ministry fight the year before, the flashes of light, the smell of dust and blood, the way your lungs burned. You didn’t answer right away.

Instead, you poked the fire and said, “We’ve survived everything so far. Don’t start shutting me out now.”

Harry didn’t respond, but he didn’t move away from the fire either. The snow kept falling outside, and you knew — no matter how much he tried — he wouldn’t be able to protect you from what was coming.