"Who's that girl Harry's been spending so much time with?" I ask Hermione one early morning, as she, Theo, and I take an early stroll through the misty grounds. "You know, the one with the silver-blonde hair?"
"Thought I was the only one who'd noticed," Hermione grins. "Her name is Luna Lovegood, she's a year below us in Ravenclaw."
"Isn't her father the one with the wacky newsletters?" Theo frowns.
"Theo, you shouldn't say things like that," Hermione chides, but the reluctant smile she exchanges with him after that has me thinking she completely agrees with him- She's just too nice to actually voice it out loud.
"So are they... Friends? Dating? What is it?" I ask.
"Well, they were friends when Harry brought Luna to Slughorn's Christmas Party, but then the whole thing with- Well- Er-"
"Me being hexed into acting like a complete bitch broke out, continue," Theo fills the gap for her.
"Right. So, Harry and Luna came chasing after me, Harry was all flustered and he didn't know what to do, mostly just went on with insults about you," Hermione places a few awkward pats on Theo's arm, "But Luna knew all the right things to say. Told me what a strong, lovely person I was, and if there was someone who couldn't see that, it was their loss. And that I shouldn't let others judge me for my feelings or for my actions, because the only person who could make a fair judgment about my life was myself."
"I like this Luna," Theo decides.
"Harry must have thought so, too- I think that was around the moment he started catching feelings for her, but being the oblivious person that he is, I don't think he's realized it just yet."
"Knowing Harry, he never will," I shake my head. I leave the two a short while later, as it soon becomes painfully clear who the third wheel is here.
⁎⁎⁎⁎⁎
"Late again, Potter. Ten points from Gryffindor," Snape says that second period, clicking his tongue when Harry enters the room a total of thirty seconds after a group of rowdy Slytherins do. Scowling, Harry scowls at Snape as he flings himself into the seat beside Ron.
"Before we start, I want your essays on the Imperius Curse," said Snape, waving his wand carelessly, so that twenty-five scrolls of parchment soar into the air and land in a neat pile on his desk. "Now, if you will all open your books to page- What is it, Mr. Finnigan?"
"Sir," the Gryffindor boy says, "I've been wondering, how do you tell the difference between an Inferius and a ghost? Because there was something in the paper about an Inferius attack, released upon a Wizarding family by a Death Eater named-"
"An excellent question, Mr Finnigan," Snape interrupts him, and Finnigan looks so shocked about Snape having actually fed him a compliment that he shuts himself up instantly. But it's obvious, to me at least, that Snape didn't just say what he did out of the goodness of his shriveled up heart- It was a desperate attempt to cut off a sentence that would have only added to the already staggering animosity between the Slytherins and the rest of the school.
From my seat in the back, I can see very clearly the way Enzo shrinks into himself at the exchange. It was all over the Prophet this morning- How Alaric Berkshire, Enzo's uncle, was arrested under the suspicions of having created an entire family of Inferni.
Harry starts muttering something to Ron and Hermione, causing Snape to continue loudly, "Potter seems to have a lot to say on the subject. Let us ask Potter how we would tell the difference between an Inferius and a ghost."
"Er- Well-" Harry stammers for words. "Ghosts are transparent-"
"Oh, very good," Snape interrupts him, his lip curling. "Yes, it is easy to see that nearly six years of magical education have not been wasted on you, Potter. Ghosts are transparent."
Pansy lets out a high-pitched giggle, whereas I'm more polite in the sense that I try to cover up my snort with a series of coughs.
"Yeah, ghosts are transparent," Harry grits out, "But Inferi are dead bodies, aren't they? So they'd be solid-"
"A five-year-old could have told us as much. The Inferius is a corpse that has been reanimated by a Dark wizard's spells. It is not alive, it is merely used like a puppet to do the wizard's bidding. A ghost, as I trust that you are all aware by now, is the imprint of a departed soul left upon the earth... And of course, as Potter so wisely tells us, transparent."
"Well, what Harry said is the most useful if we're trying to tell them apart!" said Ron. "When we come face-to-face with one down a dark alley, we're going to be having a shufti to see if it's solid, aren't we, we're not going to be asking, 'Excuse me, are you the imprint of a departed soul?'"
There's a ripple of laughter at that, laughter that gets all muffled and distorted as the sound makes its way to my ears. I've just turned our textbooks to the chapter on Inferni- We were supposed to cover this weeks later, I didn't think to look this far ahead...
Rotting flesh and glassy white eyes. Hunched backs and jutting bones. Cuts that were opened long ago but never sealed shut.
The similarities between the Inferni and my own victims is uncanny.
"Y/n!" Enzo shoots out of his chair to support my weight when I go toppling out of mine.
Mattheo has half risen from his seat, too, like he was about to do the same thing before remembering that he's not supposed to come anywhere near me.
"Y/n, are you alright? What's going on?" Enzo asks in alarm, and I clamp a hand over my mouth in an attempt to keep the bile from rising up.
"Enzo, help Miss Malfoy to the Hospital Wing," Snape says, wisely avoiding the use of Enzo's family name.
I try to protest that I'm fine, but I'm clearly not. It wouldn't be this bad if those very images weren't popping up in my sleep every other night, screaming for vengeance and wailing in eternal despair.
I'm too afraid to fall asleep that night. All those people I hurt with my magic, just because I couldn't keep my emotions under control... And the fact that my mind thinks that it needs to provide me with these nightmares- Because without them, there would be nothing keeping me from doing it all over again.
Of all the parts that my mind has suffered through, my conscience is the most damaged of them all. I feel no remorse for what I did. I never do. And I try my best not to think about it either, because thinking about it would mean facing down the possibility that I was just born incapable of goodness. That it's my fault that I've never been loved, my fault that I've never felt it for anyone, either. What's more, if this fatal flaw of mine was really there from the beginning... Is there truly any hope of me being free of it one day?
I don't know what makes me do it. Maybe it has something to do with this morning, with how I woke up feeling at peace for the first time in years. If his presence is what really kept the ghosts away, far be it for me to let whatever boundaries there exist between us prevent me from a proper night's rest.
"Y/n?" Mattheo says sleepily, opening his door for me at three in the morning.
"I... I couldn't sleep." Merlin, this was a stupid idea. For the second time today, I consider wiping Mattheo's memories away.
But instead of slamming the door in my face like I expect him to, or even looking at me weirdly, Mattheo lets me inside. The room is too dark for me to make out any details, but I'm guessing it has the similar layout as mine. Drowsily, Mattheo falls back into his bed and mumbles, "Enzo's bed is empty for the night, if you want that."
I glance over at the only other four-poster bed in the room- Just as Mattheo said, the curtains are open, revealing a perfectly made bed that appears not to have been slept in at all tonight.
I'd rather eat a flobberworm than ever admit it to him, but I was sort of hoping he'd let me sleep in his bed. With him. Last night, after having watched him get healed by Snape, I fell asleep beside him in a sitting position on the floor. My head resting against his right shoulder, his arm acting as a makeshift pillow for me. I almost ask him if I can do that again, but then realize there's also a very possible chance he told me to sleep in Enzo's bed because the last thing he wants is to be anywhere close to me. If that's the case, I can't very well ask the opposite of him, can I?
Stop overthinking things, sweetheart, and get over here.
I'm shuffling over to Enzo's bed when I hear it. That voice in my head from months ago, the one I could've sworn I'd heard even despite Pansy telling me there had been nothing to hear.
"Did you just..."
Well, don't just stand there.
"Mattheo?"
He lets out a tired hum in response.
Wondering if I'm so far gone that I've fully deluded myself into wishful thinking, I hesitantly come to a stop at Mattheo's bed. From there, I carefully climb onto the mattress, and try to take up as little space as I can on the very edge of the sheets.
An arm is thrown over my waist from behind, and Mattheo effortlessly pulls me to him. I expect to feel shocked, uncomfortable, mortified, at least. But being here, lying in his arms, with Mattheo's soft breaths tickling my neck... It feels so safe.
Safe.
Now there's a word I never thought I'd use.
Aww, now you just KNOW there's gonna be a bunch of hot-headed drama following that fluff piece :)
(vote if you liked this chapter, and come back on Wednesday for more! i think it's time we took this slow-burn into its next stage...)