Whispers in the Dark-Fred Weasley

I sit in the library, my corner, except this time I sit alone. No Cedric, no Hermione—just me, the smell of old parchment, and the weight of a hundred unspoken words pressing against my chest. The warm glow of the lamp bathes my potions homework in a soft light, but the text looks more like an ancient language than something I'm supposed to understand. My quill scratches against the parchment, my thoughts tangled and scattered.

I'm too buried in my work to notice the sound of footsteps until it's too late. A figure slides into the seat across from me, and I glance up instinctively.

Shit.

Harry Potter sits in front of me, his green eyes dark with disappointment. He looks... tired. The kind of tired that settles deep into your bones, and I hate that I've added to it.

"Serena," he starts, his voice soft but carrying a weight that makes my stomach twist.

I cut him off before he can say anything else, my words rushed. "No, Harry. I'm sorry." My hands move without thought, shoving my homework into my bag in a messy pile. I need to get out of here. Now. I can't do this. If my family finds out I'm still talking to him, still clinging to this fragile thread of friendship, it's over. The Dark Mark isn't just a threat anymore—it's a shadow that's been looming closer every day.

"Just one minute," he pleads, his voice cracking. I freeze, his tone stopping me in my tracks. It's raw, desperate, and when I finally look at him, I see the strain etched into his face—the dark circles under his eyes, the way his shoulders sag like he's carrying the weight of the world.

I sigh, slumping back into my seat. "One minute," I mutter, though my voice lacks its usual bite.

"Did we do something?" he asks, his words hesitant but heavy with emotion. He fidgets with his hands, his fingers twisting together in a nervous rhythm. "Ever since break, you've just... stopped talking to us. We miss you, Serena. I miss you."

The sincerity in his voice makes my chest ache. I let out a shaky breath, my fingers clutching the edge of the table like it's the only thing keeping me grounded. My mind races, torn between the truth I can't share and the lies I'm too exhausted to tell.

"You guys have done nothing wrong," I say finally, my voice barely above a whisper. "Mother and Father... they didn't think it wise to be friends with you."

Harry scoffs, his frustration breaking through his usual calm. "And that's why? Because Mum and Dad said so? Since when do you care what they think?"

I shake my head, the conflict inside me bubbling to the surface. "It's not as simple as that, Harry," I say, my voice heavy with the weight of everything I can't say. "What I do reflects on my family. On Draco. It's not just about my parents—it's about survival."

His brow furrows, confusion flickering across his face. "Survival?" he echoes, leaning forward. "Serena, what are you talking about?"

I glance around the library, the quiet stillness suddenly feeling too loud. My voice drops to a whisper, my words barely audible. "There are people, bad people, watching. Every move I make is being scrutinized. If they think I'm disloyal..." I trail off, my throat tightening. "It's not just about me, Harry. It's my family. My brother."

For a moment, he just stares at me, the weight of my words sinking in. His expression softens, the frustration melting away to something quieter. "You don't have to do this alone," he says, his voice steady but gentle. "We're your friends, Serena. We can help you."

I shake my head, my eyes stinging with the threat of tears I refuse to shed. "You don't understand," I whisper. "This isn't something you can fix, Harry. It's not something anyone can fix."