human again / hp.

Chapter 60

I wake with a start, my head throbbing. The faint echo of chanting drifts through the canvas walls of the tent, distant but chilling. My headache is duller now, but my heart pounds erratically, as if sensing something isn't right.

"Celeste! Wake up!" Draco's urgent whisper jolts me fully awake.

I sit up, blinking in the dim light of the lantern hanging from the tent's central pole. Draco's face is pale, his brows furrowed with unease. His usually neat hair is disheveled, and his hands twitch by his sides.

"What is it?" I murmur, my voice rough with sleep.

"Mother and Father are gone," he says quickly, his tone low but tense. "I heard... something's happening outside."

The hairs on the back of my neck rise. "Gone? Where?"

"I don't know." His gaze darts toward the tent flap. "But we're not staying here. Get up."

I don't argue. The unease in his voice is enough to spur me into motion. I pull on my cloak and follow him out of the tent, the cool night air prickling my skin.

The campsite is unrecognizable. People are running in every direction, some clutching children, others screaming in panic. The sky glows faintly with the light of flames, and the chanting grows louder, more sinister.

I catch a glimpse of figures in pointed hoods moving through the chaos. Their torches cast eerie, flickering shadows across the campsite as they chant in unison. My stomach churns, but I force myself to keep moving.

Draco leads the way, his shoulders stiff, his head held high. He doesn't speak, and I don't ask questions.

We reach the edge of the forest, the noise from the campsite fading slightly as the trees swallow us. Draco stops, glancing around as if searching for something—or someone.

"Father said to stay here if anything happened," he mutters, half to himself.

I nod silently, wrapping my arms around myself as the cool night air seeps through my cloak. The forest is dark and still, the distant chaos of the campsite feeling like a world away.

Draco leans against a tree, his expression a mixture of irritation and unease. "This is ridiculous," he mutters. "They should've told us where they were going."

I stay quiet, my mind racing. I know where they are—or at least, I can guess. The figures in hoods, the chanting... It all fits.

Father is with them.

The thought settles heavily in my chest, a cold, sinking weight. I glance at Draco, but his face betrays no sign of the same realization.

"Do you think it's the Ministry?" he asks suddenly, his voice sharp. "Trying to ruin the celebration?"

I shake my head, my throat too tight to speak.

Minutes stretch into what feels like hours as we wait. The distant glow of flames flickers through the trees, and I can still hear faint screams and shouts from the campsite.

Draco paces restlessly, his hands clenched into fists. "This is absurd," he says again. "Why aren't they back yet?"

I sit on a fallen log, my cloak pulled tightly around me. The forest feels suffocating, the darkness pressing in from all sides.

A faint rustling draws my attention, and I glance toward the trees, half expecting to see hooded figures emerging from the shadows. But it's only the wind, stirring the leaves.

At last, footsteps crunch on the forest floor, and Father emerges from the shadows. His face is calm, composed, but there's a strange energy about him, a tension that wasn't there before.

"Let's go," he says briskly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"Where's Mother?" Draco asks, his voice laced with irritation.

"She's waiting for us at the Portkey," Father replies.

Draco doesn't press further, but I can see the frustration in his expression. He falls into step beside Father, his posture rigid.

I follow a few paces behind, my mind churning with unspoken questions.

The walk back to the Portkey is eerily silent. Father doesn't offer any explanation for his absence, and Draco doesn't ask. I keep my head down, focusing on the ground beneath my feet.

As we near the campsite, the chaos seems to have subsided. The fires are out, and the chanting has faded into an uneasy stillness.

We reach the Portkey—a battered old watch lying in the grass—and Mother is waiting there, her expression calm but guarded.

"Everyone, hold on," Father says, his voice firm.

I grasp the boot alongside the others, and within seconds, the familiar pull behind my navel drags me away from the campsite and back home.

The moment we arrive, Father disappears into his study, the door closing with a resounding thud. Mother ushers us upstairs, her tone brisk as she instructs us to get ready for bed.

Draco mutters something under his breath, but he obeys without argument. I linger for a moment in the hallway, my gaze fixed on Father's closed door.

I don't know what he's been doing tonight, but I can feel the weight of it, heavy and oppressive.

As I make my way to my room, I can't shake the image of the hooded figures from my mind. Their chants, their torches, their twisted sense of power.

And the realization that my father was among them.