human again / hp.

Chapter 105

By the time Friday ended, I wasn't sure if my brain was still functional or simply mimicking the motions of thinking out of sheer routine.

The first week of O.W.L.s was over.

Five days, four exams for me. Transfiguration on Tuesday. Herbology on Wednesday. Defense Against the Dark Arts on Thursday. And while some dragged themselves to Ancient Runes on Friday, I finally had a morning to sleep in.

Not that I slept in. My body had forgotten how to do that.

Instead, I woke early—out of habit, or nerves, or both—and spent most of the day pacing the common room or tucked in a corner of the library rereading notes I'd already memorized three times over. I didn't need to go over them again. But still, I did. Just in case.

But now, it was Saturday evening, and I was sitting in the courtyard with my shoes off and my bare feet in the cool grass, watching the sunset with a half-empty mug of tea in my hands.

It was quiet. Almost eerily so.

The castle had entered a sort of collective burnout. Most of the fifth years were in their dormitories or collapsed in armchairs, unable to form full sentences.

A breeze rustled the leaves above me.

For the first time in days, I let myself breathe.

Transfiguration had gone surprisingly well. The theory portion had been dense—an entire essay comparing Switching Spells and Vanishing Spells, followed by a section on elemental transmutations—but I'd written until my wrist cramped. The practical was smooth. I'd transformed a teacup into a turtle that blinked and stuck out its tongue at Professor McGonagall. She actually smiled.

That had felt like a victory.

Herbology had been more chaotic. The greenhouse had turned into a steam box under the sun. Sweat had dripped into my eyes while I pruned a Snargaluff stump and nearly got grabbed by its tendrils. But I'd kept my cool, remembered my incantations, and worked quickly. Professor Sprout beamed at me when I showed her the neatly bottled pus from a Bubotuber I'd milked without flinching.

Disgusting, but effective.

Thursday's Defense Against the Dark Arts exam was... different.

We were led down to the Great Hall again, where they'd set up a series of spell-testing dummies and obstacle courses. The theory exam in the morning had been textbook-heavy—counter-curse classifications, wandless resistance theory, defensive postures—but it was the practical that left me buzzing.

That first D.A. meeting still felt like a lifetime ago. But the hours spent in the Room of Requirement came back to me in that exam like muscle memory.

Disarming. Shielding. Stunning. Reacting, not overthinking. I flowed through the spells, wand steady, spells sharp.

One of the examiners had even raised an eyebrow and said, "Very quick reflexes, Miss Malfoy."

If only they knew who I'd trained under.

I sipped my tea now, the memory of that moment warming me more than the drink.

I hadn't seen much of Harry since the exams started. There were no loaded silences, no half-spoken questions, no lingering looks. Just... quiet respect.

But sometimes I caught him watching me across the Great Hall. Like he wanted to say something and wasn't sure if he should.

I wasn't ready yet. But maybe I was closer.

The doors to the castle creaked open behind me, and I glanced over my shoulder.

Daphne stepped out, her braid a little undone and her robes wrinkled like she'd just woken up from a nap she hadn't meant to take. She saw me and walked over, flopping into the grass beside me without a word.