human again / hp.

Chapter 119

The library had always been my refuge. A fortress of silence built with paper and dust and time. I used to come here to think, to read, to pretend I belonged in a world where nothing sharp ever touched me. These days, I came to forget.

I sat in my usual spot by the tall arched window that overlooked the Black Lake. Afternoon sunlight filtered through the clouds, casting a silvery shimmer across the water. It reminded me of my jewelry. Of cold. Of clarity. I wore my usual silver rings and bracelets, though they felt heavier now, like they were holding me down instead of lifting me up.

My textbooks were spread before me. Ancient Runes. Transfiguration. Arithmancy. I didn't even register which parchment I had been scribbling on. The quill moved on its own, mechanical and obedient. My thoughts were elsewhere, drifting like the squid in the lake, sluggish and untethered.

I couldn't stop thinking about the cabinet. About the way it stood there like an accusation. About the diadem I had seen, gleaming like it was made to be noticed, like it wanted to be found. About the silence that stretched between Draco and me the whole way back from the Room of Hidden Things. He had said nothing. Neither had I. But something had settled between us. A knowledge. A weight we would now carry whether we succeeded or failed.

And Harry.

His eyes haunted me more than anything. He looked at me like I was a stranger he used to know, like he was trying to reconcile the girl who once defended him in secret with the one who now wouldn't meet his gaze in public. Every time our eyes locked across a corridor, in Potions, in the Great Hall, it was like falling. A little deeper. A little harder. Into something I was too afraid to name.

I dipped my quill into the ink and tried to focus.

The silence was nearly perfect.

Until it wasn't.

A soft rustle. A scrape of wood. The unmistakable sound of a chair being pulled out across from me.

I looked up slowly. My stomach tightened before I even saw who it was.

Hermione.

She sat down carefully, placing her books in a neat stack. Her eyes met mine. They were warm. Concerned. Determined. She was studying me like I was an essay with too many missing parts.

"Hi, Celeste," she said gently.

My heart clenched. I hated how much I had missed the sound of my name from her mouth.

"Hi," I replied, without looking directly at her.

She hesitated. "You've been... quiet this year."

I nodded. "Busy."

"That's not it."

I said nothing.

"You don't sit with us anymore," she continued, voice lower now. "You don't talk to Harry. Or Ron. Or me."

I shrugged. "People drift."

"That's not what happened," she said, firmer now. "You changed."

I stared at the ink on my parchment. It had dried into a jagged blot. I dipped my quill again, even though I wasn't writing anything anymore.

"I'm fine," I said.

"Are you?"

The question lodged in my throat. It was too real. Too close.

I didn't answer.

She leaned forward slightly. "If something's wrong, you can tell me. You know that, right? You don't have to pretend with me."