human again / hp.

Chapter 35

After my talk with Harry, I felt like my chest was heavy with a mixture of guilt and relief. His words had stirred something inside me—a longing for honesty, for connection, for... freedom. I hadn't realized how much I'd been burying, trying to keep myself in line with my father's demands.

I climbed through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room. It was late, and the room was empty, save for the glowing embers in the fireplace. The warmth felt inviting, but I didn't linger. Instead, I made my way up to the dormitory, the soft creaks of the wooden stairs beneath my feet the only sound.

Inside the dorm, my bed sat neatly made, the curtains drawn back. My trunk was at the foot of the bed, but it wasn't what I was looking for. I knelt down, reaching under the bed until my fingers brushed against the cool wood of a small, lacquered box. Pulling it out, I sat cross-legged on the floor and opened the lid.

Inside were the letters from Harry, Ron and Hermione which they had written over the summer holidays.

They were tied together with a frayed ribbon, the parchment yellowing slightly at the edges. I'd never opened them—not a single one. At first, it had been out of fear of what my father would say if he caught me with them. Then, as time passed, it became something else: a kind of shame, a weight that grew heavier with each passing day.

I untied the ribbon, my hands trembling slightly, and picked up the first letter.

Dear Celeste,

I hope this letter finds you well. Things have been a whirlwind since I escaped from the Dursleys a few days ago—escaped being the right word. Ron and his brothers came to rescue me in a flying car! Can you imagine? I'm staying at the Burrow now, and it's incredible. The house is nothing like Privet Drive; it's full of magic, laughter, and even some chaos. Honestly, it feels more like a home than anywhere I've ever been.

Before all this, my summer was awful. The Dursleys were worse than ever. Uncle Vernon locked Hedwig in her cage for most of the holidays, and I wasn't allowed to ask any questions about magic. They wanted to pretend I didn't exist. I spent so many nights just thinking about Hogwarts and everything we went through last year. Sometimes I replay the events in my head—getting past Fluffy, that chess match, and facing Voldemort. It's strange; I should feel proud we made it through, but instead, it feels like a bad dream I can't wake up from.

I keep thinking about you, too. I don't think I ever thanked you properly for everything you did. You were so brave, Celeste. I can't imagine facing any of that without you. You're one of the reasons I made it through, and I hope you know that.

I hope your summer's been better than mine. If you're ever in Diagon Alley before school starts, maybe we can meet up? Write back when you can—I'd love to hear how you're doing.

Take care,
Harry

The first one I picked up was from Harry. His handwriting was as messy as ever, the ink smudged in a few places as if he'd been rushing. I traced my finger over his words as I read, my chest tightening when he described the Dursleys locking Hedwig in her cage and pretending he didn't exist.

He sounded so lonely.

I didn't know how to feel about him calling me brave. Brave? Me? I'd spent so much of last year caught between two worlds, terrified of making the wrong choice. If he knew how many times I'd doubted myself, how close I'd come to walking away when things got hard, would he still call me brave?

But there was something in the way he wrote to me—earnest, honest—that made it hard to doubt his sincerity. When he mentioned the challenges we'd faced, my stomach twisted. I could still hear the echo of his voice in my mind from that night: calm, steady, encouraging. He'd always had this way of making me feel like I wasn't as much of a coward as I believed.