Trying | Hogwarts OC student

chapter 35

Alistair awoke to the pale light filtering through the heavy curtains of the Slytherin dormitory. His sleep had been fitful, haunted by restless dreams that left him weary before the day even began. He sat up slowly, feeling the weight of loneliness settle over him like a heavy cloak.

Dressing in silence, Alistair made his way to the Great Hall for breakfast. The usual bustle and chatter of students seemed distant to him, as if he were observing the world from behind a thick glass wall. He mechanically filled his plate with food, though the taste was absent as he pushed the food around with his fork.

The empty seat beside him felt like a void, a reminder of the absence that seemed to permeate every corner of his life. His thoughts drifted to Lila, the girl who had once filled his days with light and promise. Now, she was gone, her letters unanswered, her presence a fading memory.

Throughout the day, Alistair moved through the corridors of Hogwarts like a ghost, unseen and unheard. He passed by classrooms where Snape's voice echoed with stern authority, a reminder of his own absence from lessons he once found solace in.

By midday, Alistair found himself at the edge of the Black Lake, the stillness of the water mirroring the emptiness within him. He sat on a weathered rock, staring out at the horizon where the sky met the lake, lost in thoughts he couldn't bear to voice.

Hours slipped by unnoticed as Alistair lingered by the lake, the sun casting long shadows across the grounds as it began its descent. The beauty of the landscape felt distant and unreachable, a stark contrast to the turmoil in his heart.

As evening fell, Alistair returned to the common room, the warmth of the fire failing to chase away the chill that had settled deep in his bones. He sat in solitude, the crackling flames casting dancing shadows on the walls, each flicker a fleeting reminder of the uncertainty that engulfed him.

Night crept in like a shroud, wrapping itself around Alistair as he finally retreated to his dormitory. The bed felt cold and unfamiliar as he lay beneath the covers, staring up at the canopy overhead. His thoughts were a whirlwind of regret and longing, the weight of unanswered questions pressing heavily on his chest.

In the darkness, Alistair lay awake, the silence of the dormitory echoing the emptiness in his heart. He closed his eyes, willing sleep to come and bring respite from the ache that seemed to grow with each passing moment.

But sleep remained elusive, slipping through his fingers like sand. And as the night stretched on, Alistair couldn't help but wonder if he would ever find peace again, if the void left by Lila's absence would ever be filled.

Days turned into weeks, and Alistair found himself caught in a relentless spiral of melancholy. The weight of unresolved anger and unanswered letters to Lila bore down on him, day after day.

In the dimly lit corridors of Hogwarts, he walked with a heavy heart, the echoes of laughter and camaraderie among his peers becoming distant and hollow. His once fervent dedication to his studies waned, replaced by a pervasive sense of apathy. The Potions classroom, once a sanctuary where he could lose himself in the meticulous brewing of potions, now felt stifling and suffocating.

He often retreated to the solitude of the Astronomy Tower, seeking solace in the quiet whispers of the night sky. Yet even the stars seemed to mock him, their distant brilliance a stark reminder of how far removed he felt from everything he once cherished.

The Gryffindors and Slytherins alike noticed the change in him—the sharp wit and confidence replaced by a withdrawn and sullen demeanor. Whispers followed him wherever he went, speculations about what had caused the shift in his once vibrant personality.

Snape, ever vigilant, watched Alistair with a mixture of concern and frustration. He recognized the signs of inner turmoil but was unsure how to breach the wall Alistair had erected around himself. Attempts at conversation were met with curt responses or stony silence, leaving Snape with a gnawing sense of helplessness.

One afternoon, as Alistair sat by the Black Lake, skipping stones with a listless hand, he felt a wave of desolation wash over him. The tranquility of the water mirrored his own turbulent emotions, its surface rippling with echoes of his inner turmoil.

The letters to Lila remained unanswered, each day stretching into an eternity of silence that gnawed at his soul. He had poured his heart into those words, hoping against hope that she would understand, that she would reach out to bridge the chasm that had grown between them. But the void remained, widening with each passing moment.

Alistair's friends tried to rally around him, offering words of encouragement and invitations to join them in their activities. Yet their efforts fell on deaf ears, his once vibrant social circle now a distant memory. He withdrew further into himself, finding solace only in the bittersweet embrace of solitude.

As the days blurred into weeks, Alistair found himself grappling with the harsh reality of loss—the loss of love, of friendship, of the person he had once been. The pain of abandonment gnawed at him, its tendrils weaving through his thoughts and dreams like a relentless specter.

And so he wandered the corridors of Hogwarts, a ghost of his former self, his heart heavy with regret and longing. The shadows whispered secrets he could no longer decipher, their elusive promises of solace drifting beyond his reach.