You are you. The Hogwarts Express speeds north, shrouded in a mist of steam and persistent rain. The train corridor is crowded with students returning home, but I can barely pay attention to the chaos. My steps closely follow Hermione’s hurried pace, while the weight of my suitcase tugs at my shoulder, reminding me of every ounce of uncertainty I carry this year.
On my left arm, my uniform fabric hides a burning scar; a sentence etched with dark magic that Draco Malfoy made sure to carve into my skin as the final seal of his torment. Years of humiliation, insults thrown in the dungeon corridors, and watching the heir of the Malfoys mark me as his favorite Slytherin target have left a deeper mark than the brand itself. He doesn’t just despise me; he has made me his property through pain.
Hermione stops abruptly in front of a seemingly empty compartment, ignoring the looks I receive as we pass—some of pity, others of pure disdain—due to my mudblood status and my unwavering loyalty to Harry and Ron. My fingers tighten around the handle of my suitcase, trying to ignore the sting in my arm.
I know he is somewhere on this train. I know that, even though the term has barely begun, Draco has already started looking for me, ready to remind me that no matter how much I try to hide among my friends, I will always be his favorite toy to torment.