SOLSTICE

031

            The sky was still a deep, inky blue, with the faintest hints of dawn beginning to break on the horizon. The air was crisp, almost biting, as Cyril pushed himself along the boundary of the Forbidden Forest. His breath came in controlled, measured puffs, the only sound accompanying the rhythmic thud of his feet against the ground. The dense trees loomed ominously on his right, casting long shadows that seemed to reach out to him providing a sense of comfort. His physicality was evident; his muscles rippling under the thin fabric of his running gear.

Running had always been his way to start the day, to ground himself before facing whatever challenges lay ahead. It didn’t matter that they had recently came to the past, leaving behind the chaos and devastation of a war-torn future. Cyril could never skip his run.

As he completed his route and started heading back towards the castle, the first rays of the sun began to peek over the horizon, casting a golden hue across the grounds. He slowed his pace, catching his breath as he approached the entrance. The castle was still mostly quiet. Hardly anyone was awake at this time.

Turning down one of the long, dimly lit hallways, Cyril collided with someone who rounded the corner too quickly. His reflexes were sharp, and he instinctively reached out to steady the person before they could fall.

It was Harry. The boy looked up at Cyril, his cheeks flushing a deep crimson as he realized who he had bumped into. "S-sorry," Harry mumbled, quickly averting his gaze, clearly flustered under Cyril's intense stare.

Cyril’s eyes narrowed slightly as he took in Harry’s appearance. The boy looked exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes and a posture that seemed to slump with weariness. It wasn’t surprising, given everything they had been through, but Cyril couldn’t help but wonder why Harry wasn’t in his bed, resting like the others.

"You’re up early," Cyril observed, his voice cool and detached. He didn’t release his grip on Harry’s arm immediately, his gaze lingering as if he could discern the reason behind Harry's apparent insomnia.

Harry squirmed under the scrutiny, his embarrassment only growing as he struggled to meet Cyril’s eyes. "I… couldn’t sleep," Harry admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Harry had spent almost the entire night at the Astronomy Tower, unable to find solace in sleep. The nightmares that plagued him were intense, vivid in their brutality, and seemed to drag him back into the very heart of the horrors he had hoped to leave behind.

He remembered vividly the feeling of terror that gripped him as the memories of war crashed over him like relentless waves. It wasn’t just the images that haunted him, but the helplessness and fear that came with them. Even when he did manage to drift into a fitful sleep, the nightmares seemed to follow him, a constant reminder of the trauma he could not escape.

A wave of understanding washed over Cyril. He recalled a time not so long ago, when Harry and his friends had joined hands with him and were working together in the war against muggles. They were holed up in a warehouse, hiding from their enemies.

One night, Cyril had woken to the sound of Harry’s whimpers. The boy’s nightmares were so intense that they had pierced through the thin veil of sleep that Cyril had managed to achieve. He remembered the pain in Harry’s voice, the desperation that laced his cries.

It was a rare moment of vulnerability for Cyril, a side he rarely showed. He had approached Harry quietly, sitting beside him and taking his trembling hand in his own. The contact was gentle, but it spoke volumes. Harry had been overwhelmed. He clung onto Cyril's hand as if it was a lifeline for Harry, offering him a semblance of comfort and security.