HIDDEN REFLECTIONS

THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

The days in the cellar bleed together, each one indistinguishable from the last, a gray haze punctuated only by flashes of searing pain. I've lost track of time—if there even is time down here. I think it's been four days, but the thought is like clutching smoke. I barely speak, not because I don't want to but because my voice feels foreign, unused, as if my throat has forgotten how to shape words. I curl up in the corner, knees drawn close to my chest, rocking slightly, like the motion might help me piece myself back together.

I stare up at the damp, crumbling ceiling while Bellatrix circles me, her movements slow and predatory, like a cat toying with a wounded mouse. She says something, words slipping out in her high, taunting voice, but I don't process them. I drift somewhere else, somewhere deep inside me, locking the pain out, holding myself together by the barest threads of memory.

And then I feel it—the familiar, excruciating jolt as Bellatrix's wand slices through the air, aimed at me. The spell crashes into my body like a wave of fire, every nerve igniting, burning, twisting. The agony is all-consuming, yet in a desperate attempt to escape, I dive so far into myself I stumble upon something else. A memory—a fragment long buried.

It's faint, like a candle struggling against the dark, but it's there. I see my brother, his face young and carefree, his laugh ringing in my ears as he rubs his fist into my hair. I try to pull away, screaming in annoyance, but a small, rare laugh bubbles up within me as I shove him back.

"Stop! I spent an hour straightening it!" I cry, indignant, though laughter lurks beneath my voice. My brother only laughs harder, his eyes crinkling with mischief. "Why? Got someone special you're trying to impress?"

Before I can retort, Theodore appears beside us, materializing out of nowhere, his familiar dark gaze steady and reassuring. "It better be me," he says, his voice a murmur, but it's enough to send my heart stuttering. He steps between us, gently tugging me away from my brother's grasp, his arms warm and grounding. He smells like cedar and ink, something comforting, something safe.

"He ruined my hair, didn't he?" I pout, looking up at Theodore, already bracing for his teasing. But instead, he just laughs softly, shaking his head. "You look perfect," he says, his voice soft, like he's telling me a secret only I'm meant to hear.

"Gross!" my brother scoffs, laughing as he walks away, leaving us in the stillness of that shared moment.

The memory feels fragile, like touching something spun from glass. Theodore was there. How could I have forgotten?

But before I can hold onto it, Bellatrix's voice slices through, harsh and shrill, and the memory shatters. She whispers another incantation, and the pain slams into me again, worse than before, tearing through me, making me feel as if my bones are being crushed, twisted until I'm no longer sure if I'm whole or just pieces strewn across the floor. My breaths come in gasps, shallow and desperate, a thin, pleading sound escaping my lips. But Bellatrix only sneers, tilting her head as if I'm disappointing her.

"You're no fun," she mutters, her voice dripping with contempt, as if my suffering is an inconvenience to her.

I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing myself back into the darkness of my mind, searching, groping for anything to hold onto, to pull myself away from the raw, electric pain. Another memory stirs, soft and reluctant, like a long-forgotten melody.

I see myself younger, sitting outside during lunch, alone, lost in some brooding haze. I'm kicking a small rock, watching it skid across the ground, focusing on its path like it holds the answers to questions I don't want to face. "Shouldn't you be in the Great Hall?" a voice calls out, low and curious.