human again / hp.

Chapter 118

Slughorn was raving again.

It was only their fourth lesson, and already he was singing Harry's praises like he'd discovered Merlin himself. "Rarely," he boomed today, "have I taught anyone so innately talented." He practically sparkled with pride. I saw it happen as if in slow motion — Slughorn's arm clapping Harry on the back, Harry laughing awkwardly, and the Gryffindors around him basking in the glow of their golden boy. 

I turned away before I could catch Harry's eye again. But it was too late. I already had. And he had looked at me in that way that made my heart twist — like he was searching for something behind my face. A message, maybe. A crack in my mask. But there wasn't one. I couldn't afford one.

I hadn't spoken to him in weeks.

I had made myself forget the sound of his voice when he said my name. I had made myself ignore the letters I used to write and never send. I had made myself into someone else.

A Death Eater.

"Come on," Draco hissed, tugging at my sleeve after class. "We need to go. Everyone else is in Charms."

Skipping class used to feel like rebellion. Now it felt like survival.

We slipped through the halls like shadows. I clutched my robe tighter around me, hiding the mark on my arm even though no one could see it. My silver rings clinked softly as I fidgeted with my fingers. Draco's pace was brisk, purposeful. I struggled to keep up, not just with his steps but with everything — the plan, the mission, the weight of what we had to do.

We had to kill Dumbledore.

I hadn't said the words aloud since the night the Dark Lord told us. Even in my thoughts, they felt like poison. But Draco carried them like armor. He never spoke of fear. Only purpose.

We stopped before a blank stretch of wall on the seventh floor.

"This is where Montague reappeared last year, remember?" Draco muttered. "The cabinet... it was moved here after he got shoved into it. And if it's here..."

"Then the twin cabinet in Borgin and Burkes might work again," I finished quietly.

Draco nodded. His expression was set, determined. But I saw the tension in his jaw. The hint of doubt behind his silver eyes.

We began to pace.

Three times, back and forth, saying what we needed: We need to go to the Room of Hidden Things. We need to go to the Room of Hidden Things. We need to go to the Room of Hidden Things.

The door appeared like magic. Smooth and dark, framed with a slow mist curling from its edges. Draco stepped forward and opened it.

I expected dust, maybe silence. But what greeted us was something else entirely.

An ocean of forgotten things stretched before us. Endless piles of books, broken cauldrons, shattered mirrors, strange contraptions, and rusted furniture towered like miniature cities. The ceiling arched high above us, like we'd walked into the spine of a cathedral. There was a narrow path carved through the clutter, lit by some unseen, shifting light. We began walking, our footsteps muffled on the soft carpet of forgotten magic.

It was quiet, too quiet. My nerves pulsed with every step. My fingers twitched near my wand.

"This place is haunted," I whispered.

Draco didn't answer.

We walked deeper. My eyes flitted from object to object. A bloodstained book with no title. A broken time-turner with a single cracked sand-glass. A chipped statue of a kneeling witch whose eyes followed us as we passed.

Then I saw it.

Tucked high upon a dusty bust, half-buried behind some grimy goblets and a coil of tattered lace, was a diadem. Beautiful. Ancient. It gleamed even under the dust, silver and sapphire, delicate like frost. A strange warmth bloomed in my chest as I stared at it.

It looked important.

More than important. Sacred. Powerful.

I stepped toward it, reaching.

"Celeste," Draco's voice snapped behind me. "Come on. We don't have time to gawk at antique jewelry."

I blinked and stumbled back like I had been in a trance. "Right," I muttered, heart pounding. I gave the diadem one last look and forced myself to turn away.

We walked a little further, past towers of neglected secrets, until Draco stopped suddenly.

"There," he said.

He pointed to a tall, black cabinet shoved into the curve of the wall. It looked identical to the one in Borgin and Burkes. Same carved edges. Same heavy handles. Same sick feeling curling in my stomach as I stared at it.

We approached slowly.

Draco reached out and brushed the side of it with his fingers. The wood was cold.

"Now what?" I asked.

He didn't answer. We both sank down to the floor, side by side, facing the cabinet. The air was still and oddly dry. Somewhere behind us something groaned and fell, but I didn't turn around.

For a long time, we said nothing.

Then Draco sighed, raking a hand through his pale hair. "I don't know how to fix it."

My chest tightened. "You're supposed to know."

"I know. I thought seeing it might help." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at it like it might speak to him. "But it's just a cabinet. A broken one. It's not like I'm some kind of cursed object whisperer."

I looked down at my hands in my lap, my silver bracelets dull in the dim light.

"We're not going to succeed, are we?"

Draco turned to me sharply. "Don't say that."

"Why not?" My voice cracked slightly. "It's the truth. You can't fix this cabinet. I can't even look Dumbledore in the eye anymore without wanting to scream. And every time I see Harry I feel like I'm sinking."

There it was. His name. Spoken aloud. Bitter and aching.

Draco's expression softened. "You still care about him."

"I can't stop. Believe me, I've tried." I looked away. "But he looks at me like he knows. Not everything, but enough. And I hate myself for what I'm doing to him. To Hermione. To Ron. They trusted me."

"You're doing this to protect them."

I laughed quietly. It wasn't a happy sound. "Is that what we're calling this now? Murder for the greater good?"

He didn't respond. The silence pressed in again.

I looked at the cabinet. My reflection stared back at me in the glass. Pale. Haunted. Cold.

"I don't want to become like them," I whispered. "Like the others. Like the ones who laugh when people scream."

"You won't," Draco said. "You're not like them."

"Aren't I? I took the Mark. I stood in that room. I watched him talk about Dumbledore like he was some insect to squash. And I nodded. I nodded like I agreed."

"You had no choice."

"Did you?"

Draco was quiet.

We sat there a while longer. The cabinet loomed before us like a coffin waiting to be filled.

Eventually, he leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. "We'll figure it out," he murmured. "We have to."

I didn't answer. My gaze drifted back down the path, to where the diadem had gleamed so mysteriously. Something about it still called to me. Whispered.

I pressed a hand to my chest, feeling my heart beat faster beneath my ribs.

Whatever this year was turning into I knew it would break me before it ended.

And Harry Potter would be there when it happened. I could feel it in my bones.

Even if I never spoke to him again.