Chapter Text
I HAVE A VOICE, BUT I DO NOT SPEAK. Silence is not my prison, nor is it my shield—it simply is. A presence that has been with me for as long as I can remember. My words, when written, flow as freely as a river after the rain. But when I open my mouth, nothing comes. Nothing wants to come.
I do not know when I stopped speaking. There was no moment, no grand event that severed my voice from my throat. It faded, like a whisper lost in the wind. Cho does not remember a time when I spoke to her. She asks me, sometimes, if I ever will. I never know how to answer.
I know how to speak. I know the shape of words, the rhythm of sentences, the cadence of laughter. I remember the sound of my own voice—soft, even, careful. But when I try, something in my chest tightens. The words curl up and wilt before they ever reach my tongue.
It is not that I am afraid. I am not.
It is not that I am broken. I am not.
I simply do not speak. I have never needed to.
The world is kind to me, or perhaps just indifferent. People like me well enough, even without words. They read my expressions, my gestures, the careful tilt of my head. They do not know me, but they accept me. I am the quiet girl in Ravenclaw, the one who hands out notes instead of speaking, who listens rather than interrupts, who watches instead of engages.
I am alone, but I am not lonely. Mostly.
Summer stretches long and golden outside the window of my family's home. The sky is an endless blue, the air thick with the scent of blooming jasmine. I spend my days either reading in the garden, the pages of my book turning with the wind, or flying through it on my broom. Cho chatters beside me about Hogwarts, about her friends. She does not expect me to respond, only to listen. That is something I can do.
But as the days slip by, as the return to school looms ever closer, I feel it again—that quiet ache in my chest. The reminder that I will walk through those corridors the same way I always have. Silent. Alone.
People will smile at me, wave at me, ask me questions I will not answer. They will not mind when I only nod. They will not press when I write my replies on scraps of parchment instead of speaking. They will accept my silence as they always have.
And yet... sometimes, just sometimes, I wonder. What would it be like to speak? To let words spill from my lips without hesitation? To be more than just the quiet girl with kind eyes?
I do not know. I may never know. But that, too, is something I have accepted.
˓𓄹 ࣪˖ ⋆ ࣪. ˖ ࣪⭑
Cho hums beside me, her voice light and carefree as she stretches out beneath the afternoon sun. A book rests open on her stomach, abandoned in favour of idle chatter. She talks enough for both of us, filling the air with words I do not need to answer.
"I can't believe summer is nearly over," she sighs, rolling onto her side to face me. "Hogwarts is going to feel different this year with the Triwizard Tournament being announced in the Prophet and everything. Do you think they'll let us watch the tasks? I hope so. I want to see what kind of champions we'll get!" She waits, as if expecting a reply, then catches herself and gives me a small, sheepish smile. I do not need to answer for her to know what I think. I tilt my head slightly, the smallest movement, but she understands.
I wonder, sometimes, if it is difficult for her to have a sister who does not speak. If she ever wishes I were different. She has never said so. She has never made me feel like less. And yet, there is something in the way she looks at me now, searching, as if hoping for something that will never come.
"You'll write to me, right?" she asks, propping herself up on one elbow. "I mean, we'll still see each other, but it'll be nice to have something to read between classes." I nod.
"You always write such pretty letters," she continues, smiling now. "Everyone says so. Even Mum keeps them. I think she hopes one day you'll—" She stops herself, biting her lip. I know how that sentence ends.
I think she hopes one day you'll speak.
I lower my gaze back to my book, tracing the edge of the page with my fingertip. The words blur together for a moment before settling into sharp focus. I know our mother hopes for that. Our father, too. But they do not push. They never have. They only watch, waiting, as if one day the silence will break on its own.
"Never mind," Cho says quickly, shaking her head. "It doesn't matter. I'm just glad we'll be back at Hogwarts soon. I know you like it there, jie. It's easier, isn't it?" It is. At Hogwarts, I am not a daughter weighed down by expectation. I am not the quiet sister, the silent presence at the dinner table. I am simply the girl who does not speak but is still heard.
People do not mind my silence there. But sometimes, I think they forget to listen.
"Come on," Cho says, pushing herself up and stretching. "Let's go inside before Mum makes us help with dinner. I don't fancy chopping vegetables all afternoon."
I close my book and follow her, the late summer air warm against my skin. The sky is beginning to shift, the golden afternoon fading into something softer, quieter. A hush before the season changes, before the train pulls us back to Hogwarts, before the world spins forward once more.
Another year awaits. Another year of parchment notes, of nods and gestures, of silence that is neither a curse nor a blessing—only a fact.
I do not know what will come. But I know one thing: I will greet it the same way I always have. Without a word.