human again / hp.

Chapter 116

The walls of the Gryffindor dormitory seemed to press inward, too close, too heavy. I had long since stopped looking at the clock on my nightstand. The ticking had begun to sound like footsteps in my skull, echoing. I pressed the pillow harder against my ears, but it was no use. The nightmares always found me eventually.

They came like smoke under the door, seeping in no matter how tightly I tried to lock them out.

The corridor stretched endlessly before me, the stone floor slick with something dark and sticky. I was running barefoot, robes torn, wand gone. Behind me, I heard the hiss of breath and the sound of dragging. A voice, high and cold, floated down the hall like silk soaked in blood.

"You disappoint me, Celeste."

I turned. His face emerged from the dark like a wound opening, his red eyes glowing, snake-pale skin stretched over a skull. Voldemort. He raised his hand and Draco was there beside him, his face expressionless, empty. He held out his wand to me like an offering.

"Do it, sister. Prove yourself."

A Muggle, trembling, on their knees before me. I couldn't tell who they were— their face changed each time. Sometimes it was my mother. Sometimes Hermione. Sometimes Harry.

My hand rose. The curse danced on my tongue.

I woke with a start, my chest aching as if my lungs had forgotten how to breathe. Sweat drenched the back of my nightgown, and the sheets were tangled like bindings around my legs. I sat up, trembling, my hands in fists at my sides.

I couldn't scream. I couldn't let myself scream.

The dormitory was silent, save for the slow, steady breaths of the other girls. I knew by now that sleep wouldn't come back to me, and I didn't want it to. Not if it meant dreaming of him.

Slipping from bed, I pulled on my robe and quietly padded down the spiral staircase, wand tucked into my sleeve out of habit. The common room was dim, the fire reduced to soft orange embers. It cast long shadows across the walls, shapes I didn't try to make sense of.

I sank into the armchair closest to the fire and curled my legs beneath me, pulling a thick book from under the cushion. Defensive Magical Theory. Not the most gripping read, but at least it didn't ask questions I couldn't answer.

I didn't notice how long I'd been staring blankly at the same page until the creak of the stairs made me jolt upright. My wand was already in my hand before I registered the silhouette.

Harry.

I flinched before I could stop myself, knuckles white against the spine of my book. He paused mid-step, watching me with an unreadable expression.

"Didn't mean to startle you," he said, voice low.

I looked away quickly, shoving my wand back into my sleeve. "You didn't," I lied.

He didn't believe me. I could feel it.

Harry crossed the room and sat down on the opposite armchair, just far enough that we wouldn't accidentally brush knees. He didn't say anything else at first. Neither did I. The silence stretched between us, taut and brittle like a thread about to snap.

It felt almost unbearable. And yet, I couldn't find it in myself to break it.

I was painfully aware of how I must look. My robe hung loose around my thin frame, sleeves a little too long now. I hadn't eaten properly since the end of last year. Not since Voldemort's eyes had turned to me. I saw the way Harry glanced at me. He noticed. Of course he did.

I tugged at the collar of my robe and buried my face in the book, even though I hadn't read a single word in twenty minutes.

"You looked like you were having a nightmare," Harry said after a while.

I stiffened.

He continued gently, "You cried out."

I hadn't realized I had.

I shut the book slowly and set it on the table. My fingers shook. I tried to press them flat against the fabric of my robe, willing the tremble to stop.

"Do you always come down here?" he asked.

"Only when I can't sleep."

"Same."

I looked at him then. His face was drawn, the dark circles under his eyes just as prominent as mine. He looked like he hadn't had proper rest in weeks. Maybe he hadn't.

"Nightmares?" I asked, surprising myself.

He nodded. "They don't exactly stop when Voldemort is back and real."

My breath caught. I was not supposed to feel things when he said that name. I was not supposed to care. I was not supposed to feel sorry.

And yet.

I looked away again, staring into the embers.

"What do you see?" he asked suddenly.

I blinked. "What?"

"In the dreams. What do you see?"

I hesitated. The words formed but refused to leave my mouth. My throat felt tight, as if Voldemort's magic was still clenching it from afar.

"You don't have to tell me," Harry added, softly. "Just... I know what it's like. Waking up and not knowing what part of it was real."

A pause. Then, as if without thinking, I whispered, "He's always there."

Harry didn't move.

"He never speaks loudly. Just looks. Like he's inside my head already. Sometimes Draco's there too. Sometimes... he makes me do things."

My voice cracked. I shut my mouth quickly, face burning. I had said too much.

Harry leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tightly.

"He isn't inside your head," he said fiercely. "You're stronger than that. You—"

He stopped himself.

I didn't deserve his encouragement. Not when I was already doing his bidding. Not when Voldemort had tasked me and Draco with a mission that could get us and many others killed.

And he was sitting across from me now.

Telling me I was strong.

I turned my face away and bit down on the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood.

"You haven't been eating," Harry said after a long moment.

My mouth was still full of iron.

"I'm not hungry."

"Celeste—"

"I said I'm fine."

The fire crackled. My voice had come out sharper than I meant.

I exhaled and leaned back, letting the silence settle again. I didn't apologize. I didn't know how anymore.

After a minute, Harry stood. I thought he would leave. But instead, he walked to the fireplace, pulled a small chocolate bar from his pocket, and placed it gently on the table between us.

"Just in case," he murmured.

Then he turned and left without another word.

I stared at the chocolate. I didn't touch it.

But I didn't throw it away, either.