human again / hp.

Chapter 65

I wake with a start, my chest heaving as I try to catch my breath. My heart thunders against my ribcage, and sweat clings to my skin despite the chill of the room. The remnants of the dream linger, sharp and vivid, refusing to fade even as I sit up.

Dark figures shifting in the shadows. A graveyard blanketed in an eerie mist. A green light so intense it feels like it's burned into the back of my eyelids.

I press a hand to my forehead, my fingers trembling.

It's not the first time. These dreams come and go, slipping into my nights like unwelcome guests. They aren't frequent, but when they do come, they leave me shaken. It's not just fear that grips me when I wake; it's something deeper, like I've brushed against something I was never meant to touch.

The dormitory is still and silent, save for the soft sound of my roommates breathing in their sleep. A glance at the clock shows it's just past one in the morning. I already know sleep won't come again tonight—not with the weight of the dream pressing down on me.

Grabbing my wand from the nightstand, I wrap my blanket around my shoulders and slip out of bed. The stone floor is icy under my bare feet as I pad toward the staircase. The Gryffindor common room always feels comforting, the firelight a safe, familiar glow. Maybe it will help me shake this uneasy feeling.

But as I near the bottom of the staircase, I hear voices.

I freeze, my grip tightening on my wand. One voice is unmistakable—Harry's, low and urgent. The other is older, rougher, carrying an edge of intensity that makes my pulse quicken.

"...Did you or did you not put your name into the Goblet of Fire?" the older voice demands sharply.

"No!" Harry snaps back, frustration lacing his tone.

There's a pause. Then the older voice softens, though the sharpness doesn't fully leave. "Shh. I had to ask. Now, tell me about this dream of yours. You mentioned Wormtail, but who was the third man in the room?"

"I don't know," Harry says, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

"You didn't hear a name?"

"No." Harry's voice drops lower still. "But Vold—" He stops abruptly, as though remembering he's not alone. Then he continues, quieter, "He was giving this man orders. Something about me. He was going to use him to get to me. But... it was only a dream, right?"

The pause that follows feels heavy, charged with unspoken truths.

"Yes, it's just a dream," the older man finally says, but his tone doesn't match the reassurance his words are meant to give. "But listen to me, Harry—what happened at the World Cup, your name coming out of that Goblet—these things aren't coincidences. Hogwarts isn't safe anymore."

"What are you saying?" Harry asks, his voice edged with unease.

"I'm saying the devils are inside the walls," the older man replies darkly. His tone lowers further. "Igor Karkaroff—he was a Death Eater. And no one, no one stops being a Death Eater. Then there's Barty Crouch—heart of stone, sent his own son to Azkaban."

Harry's voice is quiet, but I hear the tremor in it. "Do you think one of them put my name in the Goblet?"

"I don't know who did it," the older man admits. "But whoever it was, they're no friend to you. People die in this tournament, Harry."

Harry's reply is barely audible. "I'm not ready for this, Sirius."

"You don't have a choice," Sirius says firmly. Then his tone sharpens. "Someone's coming!"

I hear the crackle of the fire as it flares briefly, then silence.

I stand frozen on the staircase, my heart pounding in my ears. For a moment, I consider retreating back to the dormitory. But the weight of my dream and the urgency in Sirius's words compel me forward.

The common room is quiet now, save for the faint pop and hiss of the fire. Harry sits on the couch, staring into the embers, his shoulders hunched as though bearing the weight of the world.

When he notices me, he tenses, his hand darting toward his wand before he recognizes me.

""Celeste?" he said, his voice low and cautious. "What are you doing up?"

"I could ask you the same thing," I said, pulling the blanket tighter around myself as I walked toward him.

He hesitated, then sighed. "Couldn't sleep."

"Me neither," I admitted, sinking into the armchair across from him. "Nightmare."

His expression softens slightly. "About what?"

I hesitate, glancing toward the fire as I lower myself into the armchair across from him. "It's... hard to explain. They're not always the same, but they feel real. Too real."

He leans forward, watching me intently. "What did you see?"

I draw a shaky breath. "A graveyard. Everything was covered in mist, and there was this... this terrible feeling, like something was about to happen. And then there was a green light." My voice falters as the image flashes through my mind again, vivid and searing. "It was so bright, and then—then I woke up."

Harry doesn't speak right away, but the way his expression changes makes my stomach tighten.

"What?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

"You saw a graveyard?" he says cautiously, his gaze searching mine.

I nod slowly. "Why?"

For a moment, he seems to debate whether to say more. Then he shakes his head. "I don't know. But that doesn't sound like a normal nightmare."

"No," I agree softly. "It doesn't."

The silence that falls between us is heavy, filled with unspoken fears. Finally, I find my voice again.

"Harry... I heard you talking to Sirius," I admit quietly, watching his face carefully.

His eyes widen, but he doesn't look angry. Just tired.

"I didn't mean to eavesdrop," I said quickly. "I was coming down the stairs and heard you talking. I stayed because... because I was curious. I'm sorry."

He studied me for a moment, then relaxed slightly. "It's fine. I guess you know everything now."

"Not everything," I said. "But I know enough to realize you're in danger."

He lets out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. "That's putting it lightly."

"Do you think he's right?" I press, leaning forward. "That someone here—at Hogwarts—wants to hurt you?"

Harry hesitates, his gaze dropping to the fire. "I don't know what to think anymore. But if someone did put my name in that Goblet..." He trails off, his jaw tightening. "They're playing a dangerous game."

I nod, my mind racing with possibilities, none of them comforting.

"Harry," I say hesitantly, "if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here. I know we haven't exactly... been close, but I want to help. If I can."

He looks at me, and for the first time, I see a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. "Thanks, Celeste. That means a lot."

As he heads back upstairs, I remain by the fire, staring into the glowing embers as my thoughts churn.

The dream, Sirius's warnings, the danger surrounding Harry—it all feels like pieces of a puzzle I don't have the full picture for. But one thing is certain, whatever shadows are stirring, they're not just in my dreams.

And I can't ignore them any longer.