ꜱᴇᴄʀᴇᴛꜱ/[ᴊᴀᴍᴇꜱ ᴘᴏᴛᴛᴇʀ]

12

James

It was Sunday, and I hadn't planned on doing much. I woke up way too late for breakfast and the idea of studying? Yeah, that wasn't going to happen. I dragged myself out of bed, threw on a shirt, and headed out into the common area.

As soon as I stepped out of my room, there she was—Adhara, freshly showered, hair wet and wrapped in a towel. My eyebrows shot up, and I couldn't help myself. "Well, well, Black. Didn't know you were so mischievous, walking around like that."

She rolled her green eyes, brushing her damp blonde hair back with an air of nonchalance. "Relax, Potter. My shirt got wet while I was showering, and I'm not going to walk around in just a skirt."

I grinned, leaning casually against the doorframe, enjoying the banter. "I don't know, Adhara. Walking around the Heads' dorm in just a towel... Seems like you're trying to give me a heart attack."

She shot me a look, half-amused, half-annoyed. "You wish."

I was about to come up with another teasing comment when, out of nowhere, the towel slipped. Just like that, it fell to the floor, revealing her standing there in black underwear and just a bandana wrapped around her left forearm. I froze for a second, but it wasn't the sight of her in her underwear that stopped me—it was the bruises. Dark, ugly marks on her arms legs and stomach that hadn't fully healed.

Adhara, at first, didn't seem to notice my shock. She smirked, clearly thinking I was just stunned for a different reason. "What's wrong, Potter? Cat got your tongue?" she teased.

But then she caught the look on my face and realized where my eyes had gone. Her expression changed in an instant. She glanced down, saw the bruises, and the smile disappeared. Panic flashed in her eyes, and she quickly covered herself, grabbing the towel and wrapping it around her body again.

"Adhara—" I started, stepping toward her.

"Don't." Her voice was tight, and she turned sharply, retreating to her room. The door slammed behind her before I could say another word.

I stood there for a second, staring at the closed door. The bruises weren't small, or the kind you could pass off as an accident. I knew something was wrong, but I also knew she wasn't the type to open up easily. Not about this.

I knocked gently on her door. "Adhara, come on. We need to talk."

"Go away, James," she called back, her voice muffled through the door. "I don't want to talk about it."

I sighed, leaning against the door. "Look, I get that you're embarrassed, but I'm not gonna let this go. I saw the bruises. You can trust me, okay?"

There was silence for a long moment, and I wasn't sure if she was going to respond. But finally, the door cracked open just enough for her to look at me. "I'm not embarrassed about the bruises, James," she said quietly. "I'm... I don't want to talk about it because I don't even know where to start."

I softened my voice, trying to keep things calm. "You don't have to tell me everything right now. But at least let me in. Let me help you."

There was another pause, then she opened the door wider, letting me see her standing there. She'd changed into a simple black dress, but her face was set in anger—though I wasn't sure who that anger was directed at. Me? Herself? Whoever had hurt her?

I stepped inside and shut the door behind me. "Okay," I said, carefully. "We don't have to talk about anything you don't want to. But you know I'm not going to just pretend I didn't see that, right?"

Adhara crossed her arms, glaring at me, but it wasn't the same playful annoyance she usually threw my way. This was deeper, angrier. "You don't get it, Potter. This is my mess. Not yours. I've been dealing with it for years, and I don't need your pity."