Forbidden & Forgotten

The days following Devina's return to the Slytherin common room passed in a strange haze of normalcy that didn't quite feel real. Everything was the same—the green glow of the torches casting eerie reflections on the stone walls, the sharp scent of burning wood in the fireplace, the hushed conversations that filled the room late into the night. And yet, everything had changed.

At first, walking through the halls felt like stepping onto a stage where everyone had read the script except her. The stolen glances, the whispers that fizzled out the moment she entered a room, the lingering stares from both students and professors alike—it all weighed on her, pressing down like an invisible force. Some people looked at her with barely concealed curiosity, others with outright suspicion. She didn't need Legilimency to know what they were thinking. How had she survived? What really happened beneath the Black Lake? What had she seen?

She refused to give them the satisfaction of a reaction. She had spent years perfecting the art of keeping her expression unreadable, of walking like she was untouchable, even when she wasn't. So, she went back to class as if nothing had changed, ignoring the way her name seemed to linger on people's lips long after she was gone.

At first, exhaustion clung to her like a second skin. Catching up on missed work was brutal—not that she had any choice. The pile of parchment stacked on her desk only grew, filled with essays she had missed and notes she needed to review. Madam Pomfrey had warned her to take it easy, but the idea of falling behind, of giving anyone the slightest reason to think she wasn't at her full strength, was unbearable. She forced herself to study late into the night, poring over spell theories and historical texts until the words blurred together.

Even Daphne had offered to help her revise.

It was the kind of thing that should have been normal, but it wasn't. There was something about the way Daphne had insisted, about the way she seemed to watch her too closely, that made Devina uneasy. She told herself she was just being paranoid. That Daphne had always been like this—persistent, intense. And yet, every time she turned away, she could feel those eyes on her, like a weight pressing against the back of her skull.

Physically, she was improving. Slowly, but surely. The deep bruises on her ribs still ached when she moved too fast, but the pain had dulled. The exhaustion, once so overwhelming it felt like she was wading through molasses, became manageable. Her body was healing, whether it wanted to or not.

And yet, despite all her efforts to move on, the rumours didn't die down.

If anything, they only grew.

Something had changed.

And she wasn't sure she liked it.

The corridor was buzzing with movement, a steady stream of students flowing in opposite directions as they hurried to their next class. The scent of parchment, dust, and the lingering warmth of a morning fire clung to the air, mingling with the occasional trace of an overused potion or a charm gone wrong.

Devina adjusted the strap of her bag higher on her shoulder, weaving effortlessly through the crowd, her mind already shifting to the upcoming lesson. Potions. Slughorn had been particularly insufferable lately, and the last thing she needed was another lecture about wasted potential or some other nonsense he loved to spout whenever she refused to engage with his flattery.

She was halfway to the dungeon staircase when a familiar voice cut through the noise.

"Black."

She turned her head just as Theodore Nott fell into step beside her, hands in his pockets, moving with the kind of effortless ease that suggested he hadn't been rushing to catch up—he had just been waiting.