𝘋𝘈𝘕𝘊𝘐𝘕𝘎 𝘞𝘐𝘛𝘏 𝘖𝘜𝘙 𝘏𝘈𝘕𝘋𝘚 𝘛𝘐𝘌𝘋/𝘵𝘰𝘮 𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘥𝘭𝘦 (English version)

Chapter 69

The light of dawn slipped through the cracks in the Room of Requirement.

Everyone was still sleeping deeply; classes would begin in just a few days, and no one was ready to face the Carrows' cruelty again.

Bodies curled up beneath tangled blankets, soft breathing, weary faces marked by nights that had stretched on too long.
The fire had dwindled to a handful of embers, warm now only in memory.
Someone murmured in their sleep, someone else clutched their scarf as though it were a talisman.
Among the makeshift beds, sleeping bags stolen from the dormitories, faded pillows, coats used as covers, a sense of truce hung in the air.
A fragile truce, perhaps the last.
A night of peace granted by a world that never cuts you a break.

And it was in that silence that something changed.
It wasn't a noise.
Nor a scream.
Only an absence.

A void where there shouldn't have been one.
A bed, perfectly made.

It was a small bed, wedged between the wall and the enchanted bookcase.
The blanket was neatly folded, the pillow untouched.
No crease, no sign, not even the shoes at the foot of the bed.
No bag. No wand.
As if the person who slept there had vanished into thin air.
Or worse, had never existed at all.

No one noticed right away.
But the Room did.
Its walls seemed to draw in a breath.
The ceiling lowered,barely, but enough.
A torch, for no reason, went out.
And from behind the wall that concealed the passage to the Hog's Head, came a faint tapping sound.
Soft. Rhythmic. Like a fingernail on stone.
Tick. Tick. Tick.

It was Eliza Winter, brown, curly hair tousled from sleep, who woke up first.
She didn't know why. Maybe it was the silence itself that felt wrong.

She sat up, rubbing her eyes.
Looked around before stepping out of her sleeping bag, her bare feet brushing the cold floor.
She moved carefully between the sleeping bodies, as if afraid to shatter that fragile spell of quiet.
She passed Luna, curled against a pile of books. Stepped over Seamus, who was snoring softly.
And then she stopped.

The bed.
That bed.

"Sarah?" she whispered.

No response.

She took a few hesitant steps.
Checked the wardrobe where Sarah always kept her bag, and to her surprise, it was still there.
She turned abruptly, her gaze falling on the table where crumpled notes, parchment, socks, the small chaos of daily life usually lay.
Everything was exactly where it should be.

"Sarah?" she called again, louder.

Her voice woke someone else.
Neville sat up slowly, sleep still heavy on his face.
He looked around, confused. "What's going on?"

Eliza pointed to the bed.
"She's gone! Sarah's not here!"

Neville shot to his feet. His body moved faster than his thoughts.
He approached. Looked at the bed. Then reached out to touch the pillow.

"It's cold," he murmured.

Others began to stir, a chain reaction.
Ginny sat up quickly, her heart already pounding. Her eyes scanned the room, instinctively searching for one face.
She didn't find it.

She got to her knees, eyes fixed on Neville.
"She was here. After midnight. We saw her. She was with us."

"But not now," Neville replied flatly.
He was still staring at the bed. "She didn't sleep here. The bed's... too neat. Untouched."

"Maybe she went to the bathroom?" Dean offered, his voice thick with sleep.

No one answered.

Neville searched the space, increasingly agitated.
The bag. The cloak. The pages Sarah scribbled on in black ink. Everything was still there.
Everything, except her.