With the secret out and Cedric having accepted my true nature, there was much to tell him. Strangely, he was far less disturbed by the fact that I was Death than I’d anticipated. I didn’t hold anything back—he deserved the truth, including the nature of my sister, and the unfortunate reality of my inability to wield life-aspected magic.

  “Since you lack that attribute, and you're somewhat helpless against Dementors, I’ll start learning the Expecto Patronum charm,” Cedric offered. “Your friends are too young to attempt it—it’s a fifth-year spell—but with Dumbledore’s recommendation, I might be able to gain early access. Even though I’m only a third-year.”

  “That would be a wise spell to learn,” I admitted, though the idea of Cedric facing a Dementor—or worse, a Death Eater—sent a chill through me. “Still, I’d rather you never run into one.”

  What would our parents say if they knew what awaited us?

  “Professor Sanguini can use the Patronus Charm. He might be willing to teach you,” I added.

  Cedric nodded. “Then I’ll start there. I’ll talk to him—he’s sharp, and Dumbledore trusts him.”

  He hesitated before continuing. “Oh—and the Granger girl... Mum wants her and her parents to visit for Christmas.”

  I froze.

  “I understand. I care for her, I’ll admit that. But it’s complicated. You know what I am. The ages I’ve seen come and go... the gap between us is immeasurable. It would be immoral to seek anything beyond friendship.”

  Cedric’s gaze softened. “Don’t stress about it. Childhood relationships rarely last forever. Forget the labels—just love her however you’re able.”

  His words were kind… but they left me uneasy.

  I love her. Or at least, I think I do.

  But is it romantic? Familial? Is it the same kind of love I feel for Nyx and Fidell?

  I don’t know.

  My understanding of these things is fractured—fragile. And in that uncertainty, a deeper realization had begun to take root:

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  The horror my sister—Life—has unleashed upon this world may be far greater than I ever feared.

  After saying goodbye to Cedric, I made my way to the Ravenclaw common room.

  Hermione wasn’t there.

  One of the girls from our year sat near the fireplace and immediately gave me the cold shoulder, refusing to meet my gaze.

  I approached calmly. “Excuse me... would you mind telling Hermione that I wish to apologize? I’ll be here after dinner, if she’s willing to speak with me.”

  Her eyes widened slightly—clearly not the response she expected. A flicker of surprise, then a touch of guarded curiosity. Suspicion still lingered, but the ice had begun to melt.

  “I’ll let her know,” she said, returning to her book with a bit less of a glare.

  At dinner, Hermione sat at the opposite end of the hall, still keeping her distance. The girl I’d spoken to joined her, leaning in and whispering something. Hermione’s gaze flickered toward me—brief, uncertain—then dropped again.

  So now I play the waiting game... and see what she chooses.

  Despite the grand feast laid out before us—meals that would make the world’s finest chefs weep in envy—I had no appetite.

  Even the mutton, tender and richly spiced, tasted like ash.

  The food felt empty.

  I wondered, just for a moment, if this was magical in nature… or just guilt.

  Either way, nothing would taste right until I made things right.

  After dinner, I said goodnight to Ron, Draco, and Neville, then returned to the Ravenclaw common room.

  I took a seat in the chair nearest the entryway, nerves buzzing beneath my skin. I tried to read, but the words blurred. I couldn’t concentrate. So I just stared at the fire.

  One by one, students filtered in. Some stared at me, some whispered. I paid them no mind.

  I only watched the door—for the one person who made all this so painfully real.

  Finally, she stepped through.

  Time seemed to slow.

  We locked eyes. Only for a few seconds—but they stretched into eternity.

  “Ahem... you said you had something to tell me?” she said, arms crossed but voice steady.

  I noticed her hand—clutched tightly around something dangling from her neck.

  The stone.

  She still wore it.

  A tiny breath of relief passed through me. If nothing else, she hadn’t thrown it away.

  I looked down. “I’m sorry, Hermione. For deceiving you. For hurting you. Even if my intention was to prevent more pain... it still caused it.”

  She glanced at the floor, lightly kicking at a dust bunny with the toe of her shoe. “That’s why you said it as a question.”

  I nodded. “Yes. I wanted you to hate me—so it’d be easier to let me go. But now... Draco and Cedric have me questioning everything. Whether this life... is worth living to the fullest. Cedric knows the truth now. And he won’t let me die so easily.”

  Hermione’s lips twitched upward, barely holding back a grin.

  “What?”

  She waved it off. “Nothing.”

  “No, what?”

  “I just think it’s going to be a very interesting Christmas.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “My mother didn’t...”

  Hermione broke into laughter. “Oh, she did. She already sent invitations to me and my parents. It’s official.”

  I groaned. “This is going to be chaos.”

  “You’ll survive,” she said with a soft smile.

  And for the first time in a long while... I believed her. That maybe, somehow, it would be alright.