THE LOST DOG ' s. black

[20] doubts

   THE Great Hall was buzzing when I walked in, sunlight spilling across the tables, bringing a rare warmth to the usual Hogwarts morning. Laughter and voices filled the air, especially over at the Gryffindor table, where Ron was doing a ridiculous impression of Draco Malfoy nearly toppling off his broom at the Quidditch match yesterday. I could practically see the way Draco had turned red, clinging to his broom as he tried to look unbothered. The memory brought a smirk to my face, even as I slipped into my seat beside Del.

“Honestly, I wish Ron had knocked him straight off,” Del said, grinning as she piled eggs onto her plate. “Would have made the whole thing even better.”

I laughed, glancing around at my friends’ eager faces as they rehashed every second of the game. There was something infectious about their energy, the way they recounted each play with an excitement that seemed to lift the mood around us. For a moment, I was lost in it, genuinely relaxed. Even the usual stress of classes and Umbridge’s constant presence felt distant.

Until, of course, I caught sight of that familiar flash of pink weaving through the hall.

Dolores Umbridge. Her perfectly set curls, her nauseatingly sweet cardigan, the tiny bow pinned in her hair. She looked like some sort of absurd doll, something a child might dress up and leave behind. But there was nothing innocent about her as she moved between the tables, her gaze sweeping over us with an unsettling blend of suspicion and smug satisfaction.

Conversation dipped around me as she approached. I felt a shift, an almost imperceptible tightening in the air. Heads turned, eyes lowered. Even the Hufflepuffs, who usually managed to keep some semblance of cheer, grew quiet. Del muttered something under her breath, barely audible, and I forced myself not to laugh.

*Don’t react,* I reminded myself, taking a steadying breath. I wanted to roll my eyes, to mutter some sharp retort about Umbridge’s ridiculous cardigan, but something stopped me. It was the weight of her presence, maybe. Or the way everyone else seemed to shrink under her gaze. I could feel myself slipping into a quieter state, like my mind was instinctively retreating to an older version of me—the one who didn’t always have someone beside me to share a knowing look with, to lighten the weight of moments like this.

“Eloise?” Del’s voice brought me back, and I blinked, realizing I’d been staring at Umbridge for a moment too long.

“Hm? Sorry,” I said quickly, picking up a piece of toast. “Just… distracted.”

Del shrugged, shooting a pointed glare toward Umbridge. “Hard not to be. She’s like a vulture, always swooping in just when things get good.” Her voice was low, barely more than a whisper. I couldn’t help but chuckle, but it was a quiet, restrained sound.

We went back to eating, trying to ignore Umbridge as she continued her slow, menacing sweep of the hall. But the mood had shifted, a subtle change that lingered like a shadow over us. I could feel it in the way the conversations grew softer, more careful. I didn’t realize how much I’d leaned into Sirius’s lightness—his ability to make me laugh, to make me forget about people like her, even if just for a little while.

But now, without him here, that old part of me felt closer. It was like slipping into something familiar, a version of myself that had always been there, lurking beneath the surface. Not a different person, exactly, but one that I hadn’t needed as much lately. I felt a strange comfort in it, a quiet strength that steadied me in a way I hadn’t expected.

“What’s got you all broody?” Del asked, nudging me playfully. She tilted her head, studying me with a mix of curiosity and something else—concern, maybe.

“Broody?” I scoffed, rolling my eyes at her. “Just tired, that’s all.”

“Right,” she said, unconvinced. “And here I thought you were just warming up to behead someone with that toast.”