Whispers in the Shadows || Slytherin Boys

the cold that crept in

The silence pressed a little harder now.

It wasn't sudden, not really. Just... gradual. 

Like fog rolling in - not enough to notice at first, not enough to panic - but dense enough to muffle the edges of sound. 

A slow encroachment rather than a sharp drop. It gathered in the corners, clung to the spines of old books, settled like dust in the air. I blinked down at my parchment, still half-full of notes, but the words blurred slightly at the edges, their clarity leaking away like ink into water.

I wasn't cold. Not truly. The air didn't bite at my skin or creep up my sleeves in gusts. And yet, I shifted again.

Crossed and uncrossed my legs. Pulled the sleeves of my jumper down further. My thighs prickled against the wooden chair, warm from the sun earlier but now... now they just felt bare. 

Maybe the window was open. Maybe someone had come in behind me and let in a draft. The logic was flimsy, barely held together with the weak thread of distraction, but it was something. A whisper of reason my mind clung to like a lifeline.

Because the alternative... I couldn't let myself go there. Not yet.

I brushed a hand through my hair, trying to play it off as casual. My fingers met the strands at my temple, drifted down across my cheek - but even that small movement betrayed me. They trembled faintly. I flexed them as they fell into my lap, trying to shake out the chill. 

Pretending it was nothing.
Pretending that it didn't feel exactly like it had months ago, when their presence loomed even in their absence.
When every breath felt like it was shared with ghosts I hadn't invited.

My chest grew tighter with each inhale, the kind of tightness that didn't hurt but hollowed. The kind that made the edges of thought blur.

And yet, the library hadn't changed. Not in any obvious way. Students still murmured in nearby aisles, their voices low and distracted. Pages still turned. Quills still scratched against parchment.
Someone, probably a Hufflepuff, laughed in the Charms section.
Loud, breathy and utterly oblivious.

I wanted to smile at that laugh. Wanted to let it be normal. But it felt miles away.

Because the warmth I'd been basking in just minutes ago - the way the sunlight had wrapped itself around my shoulders like a shawl - had vanished. Not like a cloud crossing the sun.

No.

This was different.

It had been taken.
I stared at my mug again, still cradled in both hands. It looked unchanged - dark cocoa swirling slightly from the warmth of my grip - but it really felt heavier now. Colder. The heat that had lingered was gone, faster than it should've faded. I set it down gently, the faint clink of ceramic on wood sounding far sharper than it should have, echoing in my bones.

My eyes dropped to my parchment again.

Muggle legislation in pre-industrial England.
I read the same sentence. Again. And again. A third time.
Not a single word made it through the fog in my head.

I reached for my quill anyway. Something to do. Something to tether me.

The motion felt mechanical, disconnected from thought or intention. My letters slanted too far right. The ink scratched harder than it needed to. My usual steady hand had grown... jagged.

Something was pulling at me.

Not physically. Not in any tangible way. But the air felt... weighted. Like gravity had thickened in this corner of the library, pressing downward just enough to be noticed if you were still - if you were very still.