human again / hp.

Chapter 132

Draco had been absent again.

It was becoming obvious to everyone now. He was thinner than before, pale even by Malfoy standards, and there was a constant twitch of nerves at the corner of his mouth whenever someone mentioned the Dark Lord. I knew why. I knew the weight he carried because it pressed against my chest in the same relentless way, suffocating in silence.

But unlike Draco, he was slipping.

Today in Charms, Flitwick had called on him to demonstrate the Summoning Charm and Draco was nowhere to be found. The silence stretched too long. Whispers started. I raised my wand before I even thought about it.

"Accio quill."

The quill soared neatly across the room and landed in my hand. Flitwick clapped his tiny hands together and praised me, not bothering to question where Draco was.

I could feel eyes on me. Hermione's from across the room, warm with recognition. Harry's too, heavy and unreadable. I forced myself to look back at my parchment, pretending the whole thing had not just been a cover. Pretending I had not just saved my brother from another moment of suspicion.

When class ended, I searched for him.

I knew where he would be.

The Room of Hidden Things was like a pulse in my mind. I had stumbled across it weeks ago when my own nerves had driven me to pace the corridors, searching for somewhere, anywhere, to scream without being heard. Since then, it had become familiar. A place where both of us could hide from the world we had been chained to.

When I stepped inside, the smell of dust and forgotten magic wrapped around me. Towering piles of broken furniture, tarnished armor, and abandoned spellbooks created a labyrinth that felt endless. My footsteps echoed too loudly, and I hugged my arms around myself, weaving through the chaos until I found him.

Draco stood with his back to me, staring at a huge, cracked cabinet. His wand was raised, his shoulders taut, his breathing shallow.

"Draco."

He did not turn at first. His wand lowered slowly, his arm trembling. When he faced me, his eyes looked hollow, bruised shadows beneath them.

"You covered for me," he said. His voice was flat.

"Of course I did."

He laughed, but it was humorless. "You should not have to."

Something inside me cracked at that. "We are in this together. You know that."

His jaw tightened. His gaze flicked toward the cabinet again, as if it held the answer to everything he could not say aloud. Then, in a voice so low I almost did not catch it, he whispered, "If I fail, he will kill us."

The words slashed through the air. Not even the piles of forgotten junk could soften them.

I felt it in my bones. The truth. The promise of what awaited us if we faltered. Death was not a threat. It was certainty.

My throat tightened, but I refused to let him see the tears stinging behind my eyes. I walked closer until I stood beside him, staring at the warped cabinet as if it, too, could swallow me whole.

"We knew that when we took the Mark," I said. My voice shook, but only slightly.

Draco's hands clenched into fists. "You think that makes it easier?"

"No." I paused, trying to steady my breathing. "It only makes it real."

He turned then, his face twisted with something between fear and rage. He looked older and younger all at once, a boy forced to wear a man's mask. "You don't understand, Celeste. You—"