The castle had changed that year — not in stone, but in spirit. Darker skies, heavier silences, eyes that didn’t meet as easily. Even laughter felt distant, like echoes from a time no one believed in anymore.

You were quiet lately, quieter than usual.

Harry noticed. He always noticed.

The way your hands trembled slightly when you thought no one was looking. The way you flinched when someone brushed too close. The way your sleeves never rolled up anymore, even when the common room was too warm.

He didn’t ask at first. You were so good at smiling. So good at pretending everything was okay. But Harry had been pretending for years too. He knew what it looked like.

One night, well past curfew, you sat by the Black Lake. The stars above felt like eyes, and you just needed to breathe — away from spells and curses and the ache you couldn’t name.

“Thought I’d find you here,” Harry said, his voice soft. Not accusing. Just... there.

You didn’t turn to look. You didn’t need to.

He sat beside you in silence for a long time, the moonlight wrapping both of you in silver.

“I see you, you know,” he said eventually. “The way you hide. I used to do the same with my nightmares.”

You bit your lip.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

His hand moved, slowly, to yours — hesitating just before touching your sleeve. You didn’t stop him.

When he gently pulled the fabric up, he didn’t flinch. He just... looked. And then he looked at you.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You couldn’t answer right away. Your throat felt like stone.

“Because I didn’t want to be one more thing for you to worry about.”

Harry’s eyes welled. “You’re not a thing. You’re not a burden. You’re my best friend. You’re—” His voice cracked. “You matter to me.”

You looked away, but he turned your face toward him.

“No more hiding,” he said. “Not from me.”

And he stayed with you until morning.