The train ride home from Hogwarts had been long, each passing mile laden with a peculiar ache of longing Harry hadn't quite acknowledged until now. The familiar hum of the rails seemed to whisper memories of warmth, of home, of her. His older sister⎯She had been the center of his small universe for as long as he could remember, the one constant who understood him with a quiet kind of wisdom, as though she had always known the boy he'd grow up to be.

As he stood on the threshold of their home, the twilight draped itself across the sky like an indigo cloak, the fading sun casting gilded light upon the windows. His heart thrummed in his chest as he reached for the door, anticipation knotting itself tight, bittersweet. It had been months⎯months of whispered spells and sleepless nights in the castle's winding corridors. And through it all, the thought of her, his sister, had been the beacon he chased in his dreams. The quiet laugh, the way her hand would rest on his shoulder, anchoring him when the world felt too large and unforgiving.

The door creaked open, and the scent of home—of rosemary and parchment, of old books and the soft trace of her perfume—enveloped him. For a moment, he was frozen, the boy who had braved dragons and Dark Lords, now unsure of how to step back into a life that had always felt safest in her presence.

And then, there she was.

The sight of her stirred something deep within him, a well of emotions he could barely name. She stood at the far end of the room, her back turned as she fussed with something by the fire, unaware of his entrance. The flicker of the flames caught her hair, casting it in shades of gold and auburn, as if she had been spun from the very light itself.

She was still the same⎯his sister, the one who had wiped his tears when he had scraped his knees, who had shielded him from the storms of their youth, both the real and the imagined.

Without a word, Harry moved toward her, his feet barely making a sound against the polished wooden floors. The air between them was fiery.