human again / hp.

Chapter 114

I slid onto the very edge of the Gryffindor table like I was sneaking into a room I wasn't meant to be in. It didn't matter that I was wearing the same robes as everyone else or that I had the same lion crest stitched above my heart. The whispers were already starting before I even sat down. Hushed voices, half-hidden glances, a space between me and the rest of the students like I was contagious. Nobody said my name out loud, but they didn't have to.

They all knew.
My father was in Azkaban.

I hadn't expected applause. But part of me, some stupid, flickering part, had hoped at least one person might smile at me. Or nod. Or sit next to me.

Instead, I was alone. The scarlet and gold banners above didn't feel like they were meant for me anymore.

I kept my back straight, eyes fixed on the plate in front of me. Food had appeared already, steam curling from the roast chicken and mashed potatoes like they were trying to distract me. I forced myself to pick up a fork and cut into the meat, though I could barely taste a thing. I didn't look left or right. I didn't want to see the looks I knew were being thrown my way, and worse, the empty space on either side of me like a moat.

I lifted my gaze, just once, searching instinctively for Harry.

He wasn't at the table.

Hermione sat with Ron a little further down, deep in whispered conversation, both of them glancing toward the entrance every few seconds with puzzled expressions. I wondered if they were looking for Harry too.

So I ate. Alone. Silently.
Each bite turned to paste in my mouth.

The air buzzed with talk and laughter around me, but I wasn't part of it. I was a ghost at the feast. And I knew it was only the beginning. If this was what the first evening felt like, I didn't want to imagine what the rest of the year would be. My name was cursed now, and not just because of bloodlines or house loyalties. My father was a Death Eater. A failed one, locked away. I could practically hear their thoughts.

She must be just like him. She must have known.

A sharp clatter of whispers drew my attention.

I looked up.

Gasps. Stares. Whispers, sharper this time, louder. They weren't about me now.

Harry had entered the Great Hall.

He looked... terrifying. His shirt was dark with blood, his face pale and streaked with dried blood. It wasn't the first time I'd seen him like this, but something about it chilled me in a way I couldn't describe. The entire Hall had turned to stare as he walked, slowly, stiffly, towards Hermione and Ron.

He wasn't looking at anyone.

Until he was.

His eyes flicked up from the ground, and for a breathless moment, they locked with mine.

The noise faded. The candlelight blurred. The entire Hall could have disappeared, and I wouldn't have noticed.

It was just us. Just that gaze.

Then something changed.

His face tightened. Jaw clenched. Anger flared like fire behind his eyes.

He looked away. Walked the last few steps and dropped into the seat beside Ron.

He didn't look at me again.

I stared at my plate. My fork was still poised above my food. My hand was shaking slightly, though I tried to still it.