The train was rumbling down the tracks as it always did, as it had a thousand times, and yet it felt different. More jarring. More shaky. It felt wrong. It all felt wrong. A pale, dark haired boy stared out the window at the sky overhead, a sky that had finally fallen dark after all these months of glittering and gleaming with ancient power. It was like a dream, seeing everything so still. But the stillness was ironically unsettling, turning his stomach and making him tense.
He was thin, he’d always been, but the final weeks in the castle had taken a toll on all of them and in the light of the train cabin he felt very gaunt. In truth, he didn’t look all that different, perhaps a bit sharper in the planes of his face, but inside he felt very small. Frail, even. But it wasn’t a physical pain, it was deeper. It was change, swift and uncertain and enveloping them all. That often plundered even the bravest souls into rumination.
Everything was going to be different now. Back home, back with his parents, and in the middle of the year? It made no sense. He was being pulled away from everything he knew, from the fighting, the running, and worse yet: him, that boy, the one across from him in the cabin. So impossibly handsome and so accommodatingly quiet. He felt guilty. He hadn’t spoken a word to him in all these minutes, or had it been hours? He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to fall to pieces. He didn’t want to face the fact that this train ride was a parting of ways.
And then Henry’s voice was piercing the silence, Caden’s eyes darting to him. He nodded softly, his legs curled up before him as his arms wrapped around his knees. “Very,” he said simply, swallowing nervously and wanting to say more. The words were there, somewhere, but they were jumbled and frantic and he didn’t want to leave things like that. But Henry continued on, saying those words, those terrible words. Not to have you there. Caden felt a chill run down his spine, and then more guilt. How could he be so selfish? They were starving, people were dying. And yet somehow, through it all, that dome had kept he and Henry together.
“Yeah,” he offered, stupidly, almost dismissively. Of course it would be weird, of course it would be terrible. Henry loved his life back home, his family and their adventures. But what of Caden? The Slytherin boy who’d weaseled his way in? Tricked him, no doubt. Manipulated him. He was extrapolating, and he knew it, but he was also smart enough to know that his serpentine robes had never done him any favors. Perhaps when enough people form an opinion about you, when they tell you what you are, you have no choice but to believe it.
Caden looked to him then, holding his eyes there, watching the boy fiddle with the straps of his bag. He was as patient as a saint, truly, and Caden owed him more than two words. “No,” he said openly, waiting for Henry to look up and meet his gaze. “It doesn’t… feel like home,” he said simply, slowly, as though it were hard to form the words. He hesitated. “Not without you.” And as the words left him, he understood the truth. He didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to be home. He didn’t want to have to face change and inquiry and all of those things. Monsters in the night? Those could be battled, overcome, wounds mended.
But the real world? Adult world? That was far more frightening than anything he’d yet to face.
And he'd be facing it without Henry.