stalked. but unafraid.

You knew you had a stalker. You just didn’t know who. Or when it even started. All you knew was that sometime at the beginning of your sixth year at Hogwarts, things began to change. And strangely enough, you weren’t afraid.

Every morning, you left your dorm in a rush—makeup scattered across the vanity, clothes draped over the chair, your bed still unmade. But when you returned at the end of the day, your room was spotless. The bed tucked neatly, your belongings put away, a fire flickering in the grate. And on your desk, without fail, waited a bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates. Almost every. single. day.

You liked the attention. You never told anyone—not even Pansy. It felt like something private, something secret you could keep for yourself. Still, sometimes you wondered if you were losing your mind.

Soon, the gifts came with notes. Little slips of parchment: “I’m sorry you had a bad day.” “Don’t forget to rest.” And at night, when you were too deep in sleep to notice, you sometimes woke tucked in beneath your blankets, as if a careful hand had been there. It was strange. Comforting. Wrong. Yet not entirely unwelcome.

Today had been especially awful—three exams, irritating teachers, greasy hair, and shoes that refused to stay tied. By the time you made it back to your dorm, you could barely stand. You tossed your bag aside, drew a warm bath, then slipped into your softest pajamas. Chocolate in hand, laptop balanced on your knees, you put on your favorite movie. Your eyelids grew heavy with each passing scene, the warmth of the room wrapping around you until the screen blurred. You didn’t even realize when your head tilted against the pillow, when the chocolate slipped from your hand. You had fallen fast asleep.

The window opened without a sound. A figure stepped into the room, his mask catching the firelight. He moved toward you slowly, savoring the sight of you curled beneath your blankets, fast asleep and entirely unaware that you were never alone.