Chapter 30: Returning and Rebuilding

The train ride back to Hogwarts felt heavier than the one that had carried me to spring break. My bag was full of books, my robes neat and pressed, but inside, I felt smaller. Dark Melody was still there, still sharp-edged and armored, but spring break had cracked the surface of that steel. I wasn’t fully broken, but I wasn’t whole either. Dad had insisted on coming with me, not just to see me off, but to make sure I actually went to the first therapy session he had arranged. I had argued at first. “I can handle it. I’ve survived worse,” I had said. But he had only looked at me with that calm, unshakable expression of his, the one that always made me feel like he could see straight into my chest. “You’ve survived, Melody,” he said, voice low, “but surviving isn’t always the same as healing. This is about you, not anyone else, not school, not Hogwarts, not him. You. This is for you.” So here I was, stepping onto the platform at King’s Cross again, Dad beside me, my quill tucked into my bag, and my heart thudding faster than it should have. At Hogwarts, the castle didn’t seem different at first glance. Stone walls, banners fluttering in the corridors, students rushing between classes. But I felt the stares the moment we arrived. Whispers followed us as we walked through the halls. Some curious, some cautious. I held my head high, letting my robes fall sharply, my black sleeves covering my arms. Dark Melody hadn’t completely left me, not yet. Draco was there, of course. He froze when he saw me, eyes widening ever so slightly before his usual mask of indifference slid back into place. He said nothing, just nodded quietly as if waiting for me to decide what I wanted him to know. I ignored him mostly, but I felt the tension behind my ribs, the familiar pull between what I wanted and what I thought I should feel. Classes went by in a blur, my mind half on spells, half on the therapy session I knew awaited me that afternoon. Dad had arranged for the session to happen right after lunch, in a quiet office in Hogsmeade, a Muggle-trained therapist who specialized in adolescent trauma and magical-world stress. I had agreed reluctantly, but he had insisted that sometimes, even the strongest people needed help sorting themselves out. The moment we walked into the office, I froze. Everything was normal. Calm. Inviting. But my walls went up automatically. I planted myself rigid in the chair, hands folded, eyes sharp and alert. Dad gave me a small, encouraging smile. “You don’t have to talk all at once,” he said. “You can take your time.” And I did. Slowly, painfully, the words started to come. About Draco. About Pansy. About betrayal, anger, and the sharp edge I had forged to survive. About the bright Melody I wasn’t sure I could ever be again. About my fear of letting anyone in, even him. Dad stayed beside me through it all, his presence a quiet anchor. When the session ended, he held my hand as we walked back toward the castle. “You did really well,” he said softly. “That’s a start. Healing doesn’t happen in a single day. It’s steps, small, painful steps, but every step counts.” I nodded, letting myself lean into him, feeling the familiar warmth and safety I hadn’t realized I had missed so desperately. Dark Melody was still part of me, but for the first time, I didn’t feel trapped in her. I could survive and still start to heal. And maybe, just maybe, one day I could be bright Melody again.