All I Have Left

Chapter Eighty Nine

With a gasp, I shoot up in my bed, hand going to claw at my throat as I feel the ache swell on the insides of it, slick sweat coating my body, soaking through my nightdress. My mind races with the leftover horrors of the nightmare I had just experienced, and I screwed my eyes shut tightly, finding the air in the room suddenly hard to breathe.

The curtains around my bed were closing in on me, and the blankets covering me trapped me under the covers. I threw them off me in a rush, thoughts scattered, and I stumble out of my bed and over my feet. There's a distinct burn on the back of my neck, a sting that pricks at my skin, and I hiss in pain as I try to ignore it.

I claw myself out of my nightdress, throwing it to the ground in my haste as I rustle through my dresser for any other pieces of clothing. I find an old Quidditch sweater and a pair of pajama pants and throw them on as quickly as possible, my lungs tightening and my gut twisting. I suppress the urge to puke, letting out gags every once in a while, but I change as fast as possible and tie my hair up. Just before exiting the suffocatingly hot bedroom, I cast a Cooling Charm on myself.

I rush down the stairs, the sound of my heart slamming against my chest loud in my ears, my veins pumping harshly. I swallow thickly, my throat throbbing, and try to make it out of the common room with my sight as blurry as it is.

Suddenly, someone steps in front of me, and I gasp, alarmed. I look up, blinking a few times to clear up my vision, before seeing the familiar mousy brown curls and gaunt features of Theodore Nott. I try not to release a whine at the interruption, and instead make to move around him, but he grabs onto my wrist and pulls me back.

"Hey, calm down." He says, dragging me alongside him and guiding me to the sofas. He drops my hand immediately, no longer touching me as if I had scorched him, and he takes a step back, observing me. "What happened? Is everything all right? You look dreadful."

"I— I can't—" I press a hand to my chest, shutting my eyes tightly as my breaths come with difficulty. "Please, g-go. I just— I'm—"

A choked sob escapes me, and my hand goes to cover my mouth, suppressing the sound. He advances towards me, hesitantly, his arms reaching out tentatively as though I would react like a rabid animal.

"You need to calm down and breathe, okay? Here." He furrows his brow as he digs into his pocket, and I watch him as I clutch my chest and tug at my shirt, my clothes sticking to my body. He retrieves a small cardboard box, opening it in a rush and retrieving a cigarette from the inside. He looks up at me carefully. "Sit down."

I oblige, ragged gasps coming in and out of me as I sit stiffly on the cushion of the couch. He takes a seat beside me, and places the cigarette between his lips, pulling his wand from the waistband of his pants. He reaches up and mutters a charm, the end of the cigarette instantly lighting up, the fire glowing his face momentarily. I watch, utterly confused as to why he decided now was the perfect time for a smoke. My chest contracts.

He takes a slow drag, the smoke escaping his mouth in a gentle cloud, and he turns to me, the tension from his face gone. He sticks his hand out to me, the cigarette between his middle and index finger. I stare down at it, brows furrowed and lips parted as I struggle for air, slowly taking in the gesture for what it was. An offer.

I shake my head at him, trying to gather my thoughts through the images of corpses and blood that flashed through my mind. "I don't— I don't smoke."

"That's okay. Just try it." He insists, shrugging. I eye him sceptically. "It'll calm you down. Ground you."

My gaze lingers on it, hesitant, but desperation creeps up on me as my breathing and thoughts only intensify. Shoving away any doubts or protests, I snatch the cigarette from his hand and place it between my fingers in the same way he had. Tentatively, I bring it up to my lips, setting in between them loosely, but pausing.