CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── "You'll be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way."
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─── Y/N POV ───
The summer air outside was growing colder as autumn creeped in, with the sun casting soft golden light across the grounds of our family's estate. I sat by the large window in my room, staring out at the scene, the familiar beauty of my home doing nothing to soothe the pit that had settled in my chest. The house felt too quiet, too still, like the world was trying to force a calmness on me that I simply couldn't accept.
The months since Cedric's death had passed in a blur. My mother, in particular, had made it her mission to distract me, suggesting different activities like reading, painting, or going for long walks on the grounds. But none of it helped. Cedric's face, his lifeless face, haunted me every time I closed my eyes.
The thought of Voldemort possibly being back was even worse. I could feel it lurking just behind me, a constant reminder that the world wasn't as safe as it once seemed. And no one seemed to believe it. Not really.
A soft knock on my door pulled me from my thoughts. My mother stepped in, her expression neutral, as though she were still walking on eggshells around me.
"Y/n, darling," she said, holding up a newspaper. "I thought you might want to see this."
I sighed, already knowing what it was. She handed me the Daily Prophet, and there it was, the headline staring back at me like an accusation:
Harry Potter: The Boy Who Lies?
My chest tightened in anger. How could they think he was lying? How could anyone think that after everything that had happened? I knew Harry. I knew what he had seen, what we had all seen that night in the maze. Cedric's body. Voldemort. It was all real.
I swallowed hard, forcing the memories back down before they could overwhelm me again.
"I can't believe this," I muttered, tossing the paper aside. "How can they print this rubbish?"
My mother's lips pursed. "People are frightened, y/n. They don't want to believe You-Know-Who is back. It's easier to say that Harry is exaggerating or that it's some misunderstanding."
"A misunderstanding?" I repeated, my voice rising. "Cedric is dead! How can they call that a misunderstanding?"
She sighed, sitting down on the edge of my bed, her hand resting gently on my knee. "I know, love. I know. But it's the Ministry. They control what the public sees, and right now, they don't want to cause mass panic. They'd rather paint Harry as a confused boy than admit the truth."
