Chapter Text
It should've been easy sailing after you became the Hero of Hogwarts through literal blood, sweat, and tears. It'd never been more bittersweet when Professor Weasley called out your achievements and gifted the Hufflepuff house the House Cup. With the plethora of energy surrounding you and with the company of your fellow housemates, you felt almost… alright . Still, you wished every day since his death that Professor Fig could see the end like this. So when it was all over, you had the moment alone, arriving at your shared dormitory room before everyone else. Your bed appeared to be as welcoming as the first day you'd missed death by a hair's breadth. There'd barely been a word spoken to anyone when you'd decided to depart silently while everyone continued to eat and celebrate.
It all hit you at once, and you'd sunk onto your bed with a face far beyond your age. You stared at your hands - scarred and rough now with all the adventures you'd been through. Who knew what they'd look like by the end of your life or who else you'd lose by them simply being close to you? Of course, it was always a thought that if you'd done something differently or said the right thing, things wouldn't have gotten so bad. Maybe Sebastian wouldn't have gone so far, and Ominis and him would still be friends. Solomon wouldn't have died. Anne would still be present in their lives. Rookwood wouldn't be dead by your hands and punished for his crimes (potentially helpful for removing Anne's curse). Natsai wouldn't have had to take the Cruciatus Curse for you. Fig wouldn't have died .
The only thing you did right was work with the poachers with Poppy. Calm and collected, curious and intelligent - a fast friend in your life. You admired her for her courage to stand up face to face with a dragon and the centaurs. She was righting wrongs that weren't her responsibility while you were…simply making things worse as you went about your own problems.
Your gaze flickered toward your regretfully bland nightstand with nary a picture in sight. There laid a potion of dreamless sleep, however. The nurse had given you one when they heard the news of your mentor's passing, and you'd yet to use it. Something that terrified you more was the nothingness it was sure to bring. Your dreams weren't great, but they made you feel real. Feel human. Apathy made its home where hope was now desolate, so fear, pain, and grief were welcome when they came to you.
Maybe that was just a part of grieving, but it felt much more like dying while breathing. Speaking about it felt like a crime, mainly because you hated burdening your friends more than anything. Aside from Poppy and Natty - you weren't sure you could still consider Ominis and Sebastian your friends. You wanted to. In fact, your eyes had sought out those familiar faces before your house encircled you. Ominis was clapping, a slight smile on his face, and Sebastian appeared to be in his own world with downcast eyes. Paces apart, worlds apart - you and him but in holes so deep that only the two of you could see.
You were then convinced he was only partnered with you because you could give him something, and you'd been thoroughly manipulated into not giving him up to the Ministry. His apparent vulnerability and the broken voice struck the right cords at the right time. Another part of you was angry you even thought that. That part of him you'd seen was genuine - his words were real, but why couldn't he look at you ?
Before you could think more, you snatched the potion from your nightstand while your thoughts screamed in your mind, taunting and punishing. You downed it in one go, and the taste of sweet lavender was unexpectedly pleasant. Then everything was silent. You set the glass back down and pulled the golden-green comforter back before curling into the warmth. The sight of the comforting appeal of the Hufflepuff house was the last thing you saw and the last thing you thought about when your eyes closed. You didn't wish to be anywhere but fixing the world as you knew it, but you'd have to come to terms with the impossibility of that. Loneliness was doomed to be your partner.
The potion didn't work, you thought bitterly. When your hazy eyes blinked open, you were mid-motion entering a familiar black carriage. Carefully, your foot moves forward, and you shuffle toward Fig's right side as if on autopilot. You'd had this dream before. You dreamt of George's death far more than you liked to when you first experienced it. Your mind enjoyed taunting you, showing you things you probably could have changed if you knew the outcome. In the air, the group of you went, and the familiar conversation of Fig's wife, Ranrok, and the port key took place, but you were waiting for the carnage. For the dream to end.
Seeing the portkey again felt unreal. The glow was more real - just like the first time. You'd learned long ago that your mind couldn't always comprehend what it should look like in your dreams - usually, it was just a haze or a sliver of natural light, but this looked untouched by memories. Nothing ever compared to the natural beauty you saw in the shifting white magic. You mentioned the glow on autopilot, prompting the two men to look at you with interest. Fig offered it to you, and you felt wistful once the heavy object landed in your hand. You stared down at the portkey like it was the bane of your existence. In a way, it had been. The whole reason everything went wrong was because of your ability to use the damned magic. Oh, but how beautiful it was. Irresistible with its unlikely charm, and you, like a moth to a flame.
"Everything alright, Y/N?" Professor Fig inquired when you stared a little too long, your hand hovering over the symbol hesitantly. With a curt nod, you touch the shimmering symbol, and the case is unlocked, revealing the key inside.
You wouldn't get a moment to hear what they had to say before George was ripped from them, chewed up by a dragon with a glowing red collar and armor. Unusual and horrid for a dragon to be like that purposefully. The magnificent beast was mistreated into being a pet. You didn't have to look behind you to see the thestrals bloom into existence behind you. Usually, this is where the dream ended, but everything kept going.
It didn't occur to you that it was real until the pain bloomed in your ankle after your rough landing.
Your dreams never held actual pain like this.
The world just had a sick sense of humor.