The grey heir

The compartment was quiet now.

The door had barely clicked shut behind the last of them—Ron muttering curses under his breath, Hermione huffing in indignation, and Neville apologizing with every step. Now, only the rhythm of the rails remained, steady and unyielding, a heartbeat carrying them north.

Iskaris lay curled beneath Harry's bench, a sleek coil of black, tongue flicking now and then in lazy intervals. Hedwig dozed in her cage, her head tucked beneath one wing. The rest of the train, muffled by the Imperturbable Charm, felt a world away.

Across from him, Daphne Greengrass sat in stillness. Her back was straight, her expression unreadable, but her gaze was direct. She had remained when the others had fled. That meant something.

"I didn't expect the snake," she said finally, voice light. "But I wasn't surprised either."

Harry looked up, one brow raised. "Should I be offended or flattered?"

"Neither. It fits you."

A pause. Then, she tilted her head. "You handled that well. Calm. Strategic."

He shrugged. "No use wasting energy on noise."

"That's not a lesson most first-years come in with."

Harry's gaze drifted to the window. The hills were turning grey, touched with Scottish mist. "I'm not like most first-years."

"No," she agreed. "You aren't."

They sat in silence for another minute. Then Daphne leaned forward, her voice low. "You're hiding something."

He didn't flinch. "Everyone is."

She smiled, faintly. "Fair."

"I'm not here to play games," he said after a moment. "Not the ones people expect. Not the ones they've written for me before I even arrive."

"You think Hogwarts already has a script for you?"

Harry gave a quiet laugh. "I think the world always does. People like their stories tidy."

"And you're not tidy."

"Not remotely."

Daphne sat back. She traced a finger along the edge of the window. "I was raised to observe, not interfere. To understand power but not chase it. That's how Greengrasses survive."

Harry watched her now. "And do you want to survive?"

Her eyes flicked to him. "I want to endure. There's a difference."

He considered that. "Endurance requires strength."

"So does restraint."

Another pause passed.

"You never asked my full name," Harry said quietly.

"I didn't need to."

"Why not?"

Daphne shrugged. "Names are masks. You wear one. I wear one. Doesn't matter what we call each other, if neither of us believes the name matters."

Harry smiled slightly. "And yet you gave me yours."

"I offered it. You didn't ask."

The train rumbled on, the sky outside beginning to dim. Magic crept into the air as the border of Hogwarts' protections drew nearer.

"Why sit with me?" he asked, not sharply, but curiously. "After that little scene?"

Daphne looked him in the eye. "Because you didn't pretend. Everyone else here is trying so hard to be something they think matters. You didn't say anything. You just were."

She stood slowly, brushing invisible dust from her skirt. "Most people wear masks, Harry. But you?"

She stepped toward the door.

"You're wearing armor."

Then she was gone.

Harry looked down. Iskaris shifted sleepily at his feet, but said nothing.

The train whistle sounded far ahead. In the distance, shrouded in mist and moonlight, Hogwarts waited.

---

To be continued...