Back to Hogwarts Again.

Selene's POV:

If I had to summarize the past week in my house, it would be "parental trauma in its rawest form."

It had begun subtly—a shared glance here, a knowing smirk there. I had noticed my mother didn't complain about my father tracking mud into the manor after the World Cup. My father, in turn, hadn't mocked her extensive skincare routine.

And then, all hell broke loose.

Suddenly, there were compliments.

Suddenly, there was touching.

And worst of all—suddenly, there was laughing.

"Oh, darling," my mother giggled over breakfast, twisting a strand of her hair around her finger, "you always did know how to handle a wand."

I choked on my tea so violently that a house-elf had to come and thump me on the back.

"Silvia," my father purred, actually purred, "I seem to recall you being quite the skilled duelist in our younger days."

"Still am," my mother cooed, cooed, like some lovesick teenager, as she speared a piece of fruit with unnecessary aggression.

I sat there, horrified, fork frozen halfway to my mouth.

The entire Blackthorn lineage must have been rolling in their graves.

It got worse.

I had made the grave mistake of wandering into the sitting room one evening, innocently looking for a book, only to find my parents standing alarmingly close—

And my father tucking a loose curl behind my mother's ear.

I had never known true fear until that moment.

"Oh?" my father smirked at her. "Nervous, darling?"

My mother batted her lashes. "You wish."

I fled the scene so fast I might have disapparated.

But no, it didn't end there.

I walked into the dining room? Holding hands.

The library? Flirtatious dueling metaphors.

The bloody greenhouses? A genuine, unprompted hug.

I was losing my mind.

When I finally cracked and screamed at them to stop acting like love-drunk teenagers, my father grinned and said, "Oh, Selene, you'll understand when you meet the right person."

My mother sighed dreamily. "Yes, darling, love makes the world go round."

I stared at them blankly, my soul leaving my body.

"No," I said, voice cold as the grave. "Voldemort is literally rising from the dead, and you two are acting like you're starring in some ridiculous romance novel."

My mother flicked her hand dismissively. "Oh, sweetie, when you know, you know."

So, when I descended the grand staircase the morning I was leaving, my wine-red ensemble flowing behind me like a cape, I was braced for impact.

My mother always had something to say about my clothes.

Too bold. Too casual. Too unladylike. Too inferior.

But this time?

Nothing.

Not a word.

She barely looked up.

"Is the Floo powder ready?" she asked the house-elf without blinking.

I stared at her.

"No remarks today, Mother?" I asked cautiously.

She exhaled dreamily, sipping her tea, before smirking at my father. "No need, darling. Everything is finally falling into place."

My father raised his glass to her, like some deranged Shakespearean lover, and murmured, "To the future, my love."

I yeeted myself into the Floo network before they could start reciting sonnets at each other.

Draco's POV: 

The moment I saw Selene step out of the Floo at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, I knew something was deeply wrong.

Her eyes were glazed over, her expression hollow, and her hair—her perfectly styled hair—was slightly disheveled, as if she had been dragged through emotional hell.

I approached cautiously. "Selene?"

She turned to me slowly, her voice a whisper of pure despair. "They were flirting, Draco."

I blinked. "Who?"

"My parents." She grabbed my arms, her grip tight, her eyes wide. "Draco, they were flirting. With each other. Enthusiastically."

I stared at her.

Then, I laughed.

I laughed so hard that I had to lean against my trunk for support.

"Draco," she shook me, shook me, "they were calling each other pet names. I think I heard my father say 'my little viper.'*"

I gasped for air. "Your father?"

"Yes!"

"Caius Blackthorn?"

"YES."

That was it. I collapsed against the luggage cart, wheezing.

"I'm traumatized," she muttered, crossing her arms. "This is a violation of my personal space, Draco. My childhood memories have been permanently damaged."

I wiped tears of laughter from my eyes. "Oh, this is the best thing that has ever happened to me."

Selene glared. "You're enjoying this too much."

"I'm enjoying it just the right amount."

She groaned, covering her face with her hands. "I need a Pensieve. I need therapy. I need the Memory Charm."

I smirked. "Or you could just accept that your parents are in love."

She hissed at me. "Don't say those words."

I threw an arm around her dramatically. "Oh, Selene, don't you know? Love makes the world go round."

She elbowed me in the ribs so hard I nearly fell onto my trunk.

"Consider this friendship over," she muttered.

I grinned. "It'll take more than that to get rid of me, Blackthorn."

She sighed, but I saw the smallest smile tugging at her lips.

This was going to be a good year.

**Selene's POV**

I was holding up The Daily Prophet, my eyes glued to the twisting, curling image of the Dark Mark, stark against the night sky. The headline screamed in bold letters:

TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP: DEATH EATERS STRIKE AGAIN

"Unbelievable," I muttered, lowering the paper slightly. "Absolutely unbelievable."

Across from me, Kenny grunted in agreement, her expression one of sheer exhaustion.

"Oh, you think that's unbelievable?" she leaned back, tossing an arm over her eyes dramatically. "Try watching my parents rediscover their passion for each other after years of cold stares and formalities. Selene, I swear on Merlin's grave, I caught my father calling my mother 'kitten.'"

I visibly recoiled. "That is... repulsive."

"You don't know the half of it!" she waved a hand wildly. "It's like they're suddenly seventeen again. I walked in on my mum sitting on my dad's lap and whispering something in his ear."

I slammed the newspaper onto the seat. "We need an intervention."

"Or Obliviation," Kenny muttered darkly. "We'll take the memories right out. Who needs them?"

"Agreed," I sighed, rubbing my temples. "I already had enough trauma to unpack, and now my parents have decided that the Dark Lord's possible return is romantic. I don't even know what to do with that information."

Kenny groaned into her hands. "They're all unhinged, Selene. Every last one of them."

"I mean, sure, let's completely ignore the fact that we just witnessed actual dark magic resurfacing, and instead, let's focus on—oh, I don't know—holding hands in the drawing room?"

Kenny fake-gagged. "Make it stop."

Just as I was about to complain even more, the compartment door slid open and in waltzed His Royal Highness of Smugness, Draco Malfoy.

He took one look at my and Kenny's frazzled, shell-shocked expressions, then at the discarded Daily Prophet, and smirked.

"Let me guess," he drawled, sliding onto the seat beside me, "your parents are still in their second honeymoon phase?"

Kenny nodded solemnly. "I fear they may never return."

"Tragic," he said with zero sympathy. Then he turned to me, grinning like the absolute menace he was. "And what about you, Blackthorn? Still mourning the loss of your emotionally unavailable parents?"

"If by 'mourning' you mean 'actively contemplating moving to Azkaban just to get some peace,' then yes," I muttered, crossing my arms.

Draco let out a mocking sigh and patted my shoulder, eyes full of fake pity. "Oh, poor, poor Selene. Would you like a handkerchief? Maybe a support group?"

"I'd like a bat to the head," I muttered.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic," he said, which was rich coming from him. "Really, Blackthorn, I thought you had more spine than this. Let your parents have their fun. Who knows? Maybe they'll even gift you a little sibling soon."

I froze.

Kenny froze.

Draco grinned wider, sensing his victory.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy," I whispered, slowly turning to face him, "if you ever—EVER—say those words in my presence again, I will personally make sure you wake up in the Forbidden Forest with nothing but a broken wand and a note that says 'good luck.'"

Draco threw his head back and laughed so hard that Blaise and Pansy—who had just entered—looked confused.

"What did we miss?" Pansy asked, plopping down beside Kenny.

"Selene's parents are in love," Draco gasped out between wheezes, wiping a fake tear from his eye. "She's emotionally devastated."

Pansy snorted. "I mean, to be fair, she's not the only one. My mother has been writing poetry. To my father. She read one out loud at breakfast, and I nearly choked on my croissant."

"You think that's bad?" Blaise said, looking haunted. "Mine have been singing to each other. Singing, Selene."

A moment of silence fell over us.

Then Kenny stood up, raised her arms, and declared:

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have entered a new era of suffering."

We all nodded in agreement.

As the laughter died down, I turned to Draco, who was still grinning mischievously.

"You enjoy my pain too much," I muttered.

"I enjoy all your emotions, darling," he smirked, leaning slightly closer. "They're very... entertaining."

I rolled my eyes, but I felt my face heat up slightly.

He wasn't even trying, and yet, he still managed to make my stomach flip.

I quickly looked away, staring out of the window, as if the passing countryside would save me from my thoughts.

Draco, as always, had noticed.

"Oh? Going shy on me, Blackthorn?" he teased, voice low.

I huffed. "Keep dreaming, Malfoy."

"I always do," he said, and it sounded a little too sincere.

But before I could process it, Kenny loudly declared, "Alright, enough emotional depth! Let's talk about how Gryffindor is about to lose the House Cup in the most humiliating way possible!"

Just like that, the conversation shifted, but Draco's words lingered in my mind.

As the Hogwarts Express sped toward our fourth year, I knew one thing for certain:

I was completely and utterly doomed.

..................................................................................

The semester kept on getting more interesting. We had barely stepped foot into the Great Hall when the Sorting Ceremony began, and honestly, we were all bored out of our minds. Even the first years looked like they wanted to yawn. But then, just as we had finished the last of our pumpkin juice, Dumbledore stood up, and the hall instantly silenced.

"Now that we are all fed and watered," he began, his blue eyes twinkling like he had been waiting all summer to drop this bombshell, "I must ask for your attention for an important announcement."

Draco, who had been half-listening while making snide comments about some poor first year's robes, suddenly sat up straighter, clearly intrigued.

"Are we finally getting a class where we learn how to turn Weasley into a toad?" he muttered under his breath.

I elbowed him in the ribs, and he hissed dramatically.

Dumbledore continued, "This year, Hogwarts has been chosen to host a most exciting and historic event—the Triwizard Tournament!"

The entire Great Hall erupted.

The Gryffindors cheered like they had already won it, the Ravenclaws were murmuring amongst themselves about strategy, and the Hufflepuffs looked both excited and vaguely worried for their own safety. The Slytherins, on the other hand, immediately started whispering about which one of us was obviously the best candidate.

"This is it, this is my moment," Draco whispered, practically glowing with ambition. "Imagine me as a Triwizard Champion, Selene. The entire school cheering my name—Draco Malfoy, Hogwarts Champion. It has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?"

"I think Hogwarts loser suits you better," I muttered, stuffing a potato into my mouth.

Before Draco could dramatically gasp and launch into a monologue about how he was deeply offended, a stern-looking man stood up beside Dumbledore. Bartemius Crouch. He looked like he hadn't smiled since before the invention of magic.

"As the Headmaster has stated," Crouch said, his voice clipped and no-nonsense, "the Triwizard Tournament will be held here at Hogwarts. However, before we go any further, I must remind you that the competition is dangerous. It has claimed lives in the past, and thus, only students who are of age—seventeen years or older—may submit their names."

At this, the entire Slytherin table groaned.

Draco froze mid-bite. "What?" he said, eyes wide with betrayal.

I smirked. "Oh, did I hear that correctly? Only of-age students?" I turned to Kenny, who was already grinning. "Did he just say that our dear Draco is too young to compete?"

Kenny clasped a hand over her heart. "Oh, the injustice!"

Draco scowled. "This is ridiculous! I bet they'll let Potter in somehow."

"You're probably right," I sighed. "The Great and Almighty Harry Potter, Savior of the Wizarding World and apparently the Chosen One for every bloody event."

Draco rolled his eyes, still sulking. "I would've been brilliant. You just wait, Selene, I'd have beaten everyone."

"Right, except for the small inconvenience of being fourteen."

Before he could huff and rant about how unfair the world was, the Great Hall suddenly darkened, and the huge doors swung open with an eerie gust of wind.

In walked the Durmstrang boys, led by none other than Viktor Krum himself.

The Gryffindor table exploded—probably because of Ron Weasley, who looked like he was about to faint.

I'll admit, they made an entrance. Cloaks billowing, staffs slamming into the floor, fire bursting from nowhere—it was all very dramatic. I had to respect the effort.

And then the Beauxbatons girls arrived.

The room changed instantly—it was like someone had cast a spell that made every boy in the castle lose their ability to think.

Draco, my idiot best friend, sat straight up, eyes practically sparkling.

"Merlin's beard," he whispered, leaning forward. "They're stunning."

I turned my head so fast I nearly snapped my neck.

"Oh, are they now?"

He didn't even hear me. He was too busy drooling over their graceful steps, their delicate little sighs, the way they flitted through the Great Hall like enchanted butterflies.

"Look at the way they move," he murmured, eyes glazed over. "Like angels."

I narrowed my eyes. "Shame they can't move their brains fast enough to conjure a single thought."

Draco didn't even blink.

Kenny, sitting beside me, was gripping her goblet with murderous intent.

I followed her gaze and sure enough, Blaise Zabini was looking very, very enchanted, his head tilted as he watched one particular girl.

Kenny huffed.

I turned back to Draco. "Oh, I'm sorry, do you need a towel to wipe the drool off your face?"

Draco, still mesmerized, sighed. "Selene, be honest, don't you think they're—"

I grabbed a bread roll and shoved it straight into his mouth.

He spluttered, crumbs flying everywhere. "Wha—?!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I just thought you needed something to distract your jaw from dropping to the floor."

Kenny, still glaring at Blaise, stomped her foot under the table, causing him to yelp.

"I'm sorry, were you saying something, Zabini?" she asked sweetly.

Blaise rubbed his shin, wincing. "Ow, what the bloody hell was that for?!"

"Oh, nothing," she said, smiling. "Just making sure you're still present in this conversation."

Pansy, who had been watching all this unfold like a delighted spectator, took a sip of her drink. "You two are so jealous."

Draco, having finally recovered from my bread attack, grinned at me. "Oh, that's what this is about, isn't it?"

"Shut up, Malfoy," I muttered, stabbing my potatoes.

He leaned in closer, that infuriating smirk stretching across his face. "Admit it, Selene. You don't like the idea of me fawning over another girl, do you?"

I refused to look at him.

"Not at all," I said casually. "I just don't like watching my friends lose their dignity."

Draco chuckled, nudging my shoulder.

"Don't worry, darling," he said, voice dropping lower. "None of them could ever steal my attention from you."

I rolled my eyes, ignoring the way my heart skipped a beat.

"Right," I muttered. "Tell that to your gaping mouth."

The Great Hall was buzzing with excitement, and as I listened to all the discussions of who would put their names in the Goblet of Fire, And then, the biggest embarrassment of the night.

Just when I thought the spectacle was over, that we had reached the pinnacle of dramatic entrances and declarations, that we could all just move on and let our food digest properly—

Dumbledore stood up.

And gestured for us to sing.

Sing.

I blinked.

Draco looked at me, horrified.

"Tell me this isn't happening," he whispered, pale as a ghost.

"Oh, it's happening," I whispered back, my voice hollow with disbelief.

Before either of us could react, the entire school erupted into an obnoxious melody of—

"Hoggy Warty Hogwarts, teach us something please—"

I nearly choked on air.

Draco made a sound that was half disgust, half betrayal. "What the bloody hell is this?"

Kenny, looking equally disturbed, leaned over. "Why does it sound like a bunch of drunk trolls are performing karaoke?"

Draco grabbed my arm. "Selene, we have to leave. Now."

I was paralyzed, watching the Gryffindors in particular belt out the lyrics like they were at some grand battle cry of a concert.

Even the Beauxbatons girls, previously floating around like enchanted fairies, looked deeply disturbed. Fleur Delacour's face twisted in absolute horror.

The Durmstrang boys? Oh, they were bewildered. Viktor Krum stared at the scene like he was reevaluating his life choices.

But it got worse.

Dumbledore, clapping along enthusiastically, turned towards the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students, motioning for them to join in.

I swear on Merlin's grave, I saw actual fear in Viktor Krum's eyes.

Draco groaned, slamming his forehead onto the table. "This is it. This is how we die. Not in the Triwizard Tournament, not at the hands of Dark Lords, but from secondhand embarrassment."

Kenny buried her face in her hands. "If my parents ever hear about this, they'll disown me."

Blaise, who had refused to sing, sat back with an unimpressed look. "And to think, we spent years convincing the world that Hogwarts was an institution of prestige."

Meanwhile, at the Gryffindor table, Weasley and Potter were leading the choir like their lives depended on it.

"THEY DON'T EVEN KNOW THE WORDS," Draco hissed in disbelief as Ron screamed random syllables.

"Why are they enjoying this?" I gasped. "Why is everyone enjoying this?"

Pansy, looking like she was seconds away from self-imploding, muttered, "I feel physically ill."

I covered my face in pure, absolute mortification.

Draco, scowling at the horror unfolding before us, turned to me and whispered, dead serious,

"We are never speaking of this again."

And I, still in shock, could only nod.