SABAISM | H. POTTER

NINE. | YOU ARE NOT ALONE

The sun barely crested the horizon as Harry awoke, roused by the unsettling howls of the wind outside. For a fleeting moment, he attributed the chaotic sounds to some sinister enchantment, but then a chilling draft grazed his neck, jolting him upright. Peeves the Poltergeist floated mischievously beside him, puffing air into his ear with unrelenting glee. "What did you do that for?" Harry snapped, his irritation bubbling over like a brewing cauldron.

With a rounded grin, Peeves proudly declared, "Bloony sent me!" The poltergeist's face shimmered with impish delight, a typical prelude to his dramatic exits.

Harry fumbled for his alarm clock, squinting at the blaring numbers that informed him it was half past four. Cursing Peeves for the wake-up call, and gnawed at by concern for the girl who stole his thoughts even in the darkest hours, he rolled over and attempted to chase sleep. The attempt, however, was futile.

Yes, he was indignant that she vanished like a specter each month, slipping back into the Tower at dawn with secrets wrapped around her like a shroud. He was furious for her absence when her father had needed her, and even more so for sending Peeves on a mischievous errand when a Quidditch match loomed on the horizon. But beneath it all, a gnawing worry consumed him: she was his best friend, and she was carrying burdens that should be shared. As much as his frustration seethed, love for her brimming at the edges made it clear that he deeply cared.

After conceding defeat in his quest for sleep, Harry climbed out of bed, dressed hastily, picked up his Nimbus Two Thousand, and made his way toward the common room, driven by a longing to know what weighed on her heart.

As he opened the door, something brushed against his leg. He bent down just in time to catch Crookshanks by the end of his bushy tail. "You know, I reckon Ron was right about you," Harry admonished the feline, an amused glint in his eyes despite the worry churning in his gut. "There are enough mice for you to chase around here." With a gentle nudge, he guided the orange furball down the spiral stairs, emphasizing, "And you can leave Scabbers alone."

The storm's ferocity was palpable in the common room, raging with the sound of wind and rain. Harry knew better than to hope the match would be postponed; Quidditch games didn't get called off for mere thunderstorms. Still, an anxious rhythm pulsed through him, particularly as Wood had pointed out Cedric Diggory in the corridor that very day. Diggory, a solid fifth-year and towering compared to Harry, now took hold of Gemini, who stood impressively beside him.

In that moment, all other worries melted away as Harry's eyes landed on her, clad in vibrant crimson Quidditch robes. Dawn had just begun to break, its tender rays filtering through the scarlet drapes, illuminating the dark circles under her eyes and the nasty grazes decorating her cheekbone. Even in distress, she radiated beauty, though the expression on her face screamed exhaustion—a frayed angel touched by stormy skies.

"Gemini," he murmured softly, the anger dissipating in an instant as concern surged back to life, "Where have you been? What happened to your cheek? Are you alright to play today? What in Merlin's name—?"

"Breathe, Harry," she interjected hastily, letting out a yawn that punctuated her fatigue. "You've probably heard, but my dad fell ill. Just a mild case of Levitation sickness. He's been stuck with Pomfrey, so I've been taking care of him. I'm just a bit worn out, that's all. And obviously 'sound enough' to kick some badger ass today. On my worst day, I could demolish the bloody Holyhead Harpies!"

She attempted to dismiss him, flipping her hair dismissively, but Harry strained against her lighthearted facade. "You fell and scraped your cheek. I can't just ignore that!"

She sniffed, aware of his unwavering scrutiny. "Then stop looking at me," she replied, a hint of irritation flashing in her beautiful eyes. "Now, come on. Let's go grab a bite to eat. We have a game to win!"