𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒-ℍ𝕒𝕣𝕣𝕪 ℙ𝕠𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕣❥

𝐆𝐎𝐅 𝟏𝟐

Early next morning, Harry woke with a plan fully formed in his mind, as though his sleeping brain had been working on it all night.

He got up, dressed in the pale dawn light, ripped a piece of paper out of his notebook and began writing the following letter:
Dear Sirius and Eric,
I reckon I just imagined my scar hurting, I was half asleep
when I wrote to you last time. There's no point coming back, everything's fine here. Don't worry about me, my head feels completely normal.
ℋ𝒶𝓇𝓇𝓎

He leaned his head out the window and saw Hedwig flying toward him.

It took him a while to persuade her as she kept shuffling around on her perch, showing him her tail. She was evidently still furious about his lack of gratitude the previous night.

In the end, it was Harry suggesting she might be too tired, and that perhaps he would ask Ron to borrow Pigwidgeon, that made her stick out her leg and allow him to tie the letter to it.

"Just find them, all right?" Harry said, stroking her back as she stood on the windowsill"Before the dementors do."

She nipped his finger, perhaps rather harder than she would ordinarily have done, but hooted softly in a reassuring sort of way all the same.

Then she spread her wings and took off into the sunrise. Harry watched her fly out of sight with the familiar feeling of unease back in his stomach.

He had been so sure that Sirius's and Eric's reply would alleviate his worries rather than increasing them.

He finally climbed down the steps and into the common room, the sight he walked in on made him feel even more worried.

Dean and Emily hadn't moved all night but one thing had changed, Dean's robes had been taken off and wrapped around Emily as she slept on his shoulder.

Harry marched of to breakfast waiting for everyone to get there.

"That was a lie, Harry," said Hermione sharply over breakfast, when he told her and Ron what he had done. "You didn't imagine your scar hurting and you know it."

"So what?" said Harry. "They're not going back to Azkaban because of me."

"Drop it," said Ron sharply to Hermione as she opened her mouth to argue some more, and for once, Hermione heeded him, and fell silent.

Emily walked into the hall, her robes crisp and freshly adjusted, a faint glow of calm on her face. She slid into her seat, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"Guys," she began, her voice light but warm, "Dean was so sweet last night. He saw I was upset... and he was just there for me."

Harry's hand shot out, slamming his piece of toast onto the table so hard that crumbs scattered across the surface. His green eyes blazed as he shouted, "Seriously? How can you be so—so stupid, Emily? He likes you! He gave you his robes last night—and you just let him!"

Emily froze, her fork trembling slightly in her hand. She turned to him, incredulous. "Woah—wait. I was asleep when he put the robes on me! It's not like that at all. He's like... a brother to me. You wouldn't care if Ethan gave me his robes because I was sad!"

Harry's jaw tightened, the veins along his neck standing out. His voice rose, tense and sharp. "Maybe that's because he is your brother! Dean's trying to get close to you—so he can just... get in your pants!"

The hall fell silent. Students paused mid-bite, their eyes snapping toward the commotion. All of them were watching, the air thick with tension.

Emily felt her chest tighten, heat rushing to her cheeks. She barely whispered, her voice quivering, "I'm... I'm not hungry." Without another word, she pushed back her chair and left the hall. Heads turned as she passed, including Harry's, whose stare followed her with a mixture of frustration and helplessness.