𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐖𝐞 𝐖𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧: 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

Walking through the halls: people were there. Harry could see them. They could see Harry. It didn't bother him.

In the common room: Ron spoke to Harry of his days spent with Hermione. Hermione spoke to him of her latest revelations and stories she had read.

Sitting at a desk in a classroom: professors taught him. He listened. He learned. He found the motivation he once knew to try for success.

Harry knew things changed all of the time. The world spins, and things change.

Harry also knew that it was okay for some things to stay the same, and that some things always would.

If students and professors ignored the rotation of the earth and chose to look through the same lenses they always had, then that was that, and it would be the same.

But Harry chose to step outside, and look up at the way the sun moves across the sky, the way the stars appear and disappear every night.

Before, he almost wished that he wouldn't. That he too, could ignore the motion sickness.

When he sat outside for hours on end staring at the rippling waters and searching for some sort of relief while not even trying to fight off thousands of Dementors flying over his head—he just wanted to disappear.

And he had.

And now, he looked in the mirror, and finally saw a reflection.

He could now see the way his cheeks grew rosy whenever Draco was around. The way a soft smile spread across his face—even if he didn't want it to.

He knew Draco could see it too, and that he was the reason that he himself now could. He would forever be grateful; forever. This is what he told himself.

Forever.

𖦹𖦹𖦹

Harry woke up to the sound of murmurs surrounding him. Deeper voices, a baritone that could be felt in the chest. Male, he presumed.

He squinted his eyes against the harsh light that flooded his senses, trying to find the strength within to sit upright.

"Naw, the old geezer's lost his marbles, I tell you," one voice grumbled, "Two essays due in one week."

"It is midterms, Seamus," a much quieter voice replied.

"Who cares? Last night was the last night I slept more than three hours."

"Yeah," a new, more familiar one laughed, "and now you've got to pay the price by not sleeping at all the rest of the week."

"You're an arse, Weasley."

"Well? It's true! Harry, too. I've seen him sleeping soundly all since Christmas. Merlin knows he's gotta be up to his ears in homework."

"Maybe, he just doesn't procrastinate and gets it done during the day. When he should."

"Shut your face, Neville"

"Oh! Morning, Harry!"

Harry sat up finally, looking around at his surroundings to see Seamus waving at him from the foot of his bed where he stood; a jumper midway on his torso.

"Morning," he mumbled back.

"How'd you sleep?"

"Great. Thanks," Harry rubbed his eyes of their crust and reached to his bedside table for his glasses.