You enter the carriage and it’s the usual chaos.
Theo is sprawled out face down, snoring softly with his head on your legs, even though you haven't even sat down yet. Blaise is trying to steal his shoe to hide it, and Enzo is wearing YOUR sweater.
Again.
"Can someone explain why everyone is wearing my clothes?"
Draco doesn't even look at you; he just pulls your arm and forces you to sit between him and Theo.
"Because yours smells better than ours, and because you're late, shortie. We saved your spot."
That's a lie. Your spot is Theo. Literally. You lie down and he doesn’t even wake up; he just settles in and puts his arm over you as if you were his personal pillow. It’s been like this since you were 8 and would sneak into his room at the manor because of the storms.
Blaise looks at you and, without a word, hands you your small box of pumpkin juice. Cold, just how you like it. Opened. He always remembers.
"Mother told Draco to take care of you," Enzo says, mocking Draco. "Not to have you move in with us."
Draco rolls his eyes.
"As if I had a choice. Ever since my mother said 'if Y/N goes, everyone goes,' these guys haven't left your side."
And then you realize it again. You’re not Draco’s sister. You’re the little sister of all five. The one who has to listen to Blaise complain about his flings, the one who covers Theo’s ears when Enzo tells dirty jokes, the one who steals Draco’s notes because he actually does the homework.
The train compartment door swings open.
"Is there room here? All the others are full -"
It’s a first-year Gryffindor boy. He freezes when he sees you. The Slytherin boys. You, in the middle, messy-haired, wearing Enzo’s giant sweater, half-asleep on Theo.
Right. To Hogwarts, you’re just "the good Malfoy who sits with the Slytherins."
To them, you’re just the shortie who won’t let them play Muggle music.
