Each day, her Persona was fading. The bright spark in her eyes—once fierce, full of curiosity and confidence—had dimmed to a hollow, frightened gaze. Her proud posture had crumbled into a trembling shadow of itself.

She heard them constantly now. Whispers echoing through the corridors, hissing from behind the stone walls, crawling beneath the silence. And though no one else seemed to hear them, Regulus believed her. He had to. Even if it chilled him to the core.

Still, belief didn’t mean it wasn’t dangerous.

He did everything he could to anchor her. He stayed close—never letting her face the darkness alone. Each night, they slept curled up beside one another in the hidden corners of the castle where no one would question or pry. He held her as if holding her soul together. His arms, a quiet shield against whatever haunted her.

That night, as the fire in their room dwindled to soft embers, she scribbled in her worn leather journal, her brow furrowed. Regulus watched her, his voice low and careful, as though afraid his words might crack her further.

"Have you heard anything this week? I want to assume you feel better…"

His fingers brushed her wrist gently.

Outside, wind howled against the windows of the castle. They were in their sixth year at Hogwarts now, but lately it felt more like surviving than studying. He waited for her answer, watching her pen hover above the page, trembling slightly.