Day 18 - "Starlight, Silence, and Other Mistakes"

It started, as all catastrophic Hogwarts gossip did, in the library.

Specifically, in the Restricted Section.

Specifically specifically, in a book that someone probably enchanted to snitch.

Talia had gone looking for a plant growth charm and came back with a scroll in her bag that definitely didn't belong to her. It floated out mid-breakfast — opened itself with a twirl — and slammed right down in the middle of the Gryffindor table.

"Oof," someone said as juice splashed.

"What is that?" someone else asked.

Ches turned her head just in time to see several students lean in. A few gasped. One actually snorted.

Then she heard it.

"Wait—isn't that the letter? The one from third year?"Her stomach dipped.

She was halfway to the table when she heard the next bit.

"I thought he dumped her 'cause of that dare Pansy made him do.""No, no, it was that she hexed him when he wouldn't kiss her during some study session."

"I heard she told someone she was only hanging out with him to get better Potions marks."

Ches froze.

Across the room, Draco was still talking to Blaise, oblivious.

Talia nudged the scroll shut with her spoon. "It's enchanted. Some idiot stuffed it with misinformation and dramatics. Classic sabotage format."

Ches didn't say anything.

The rumor spread faster than a rogue Niffler in a jewelry shop.

"Didn't she use him and then blame him for ghosting her?""No, he said something cruel and she cried."

"Wasn't she the one who hexed his hair pink after that party?"

By lunch, the truth had been chewed into unrecognizable shapes. Ches brushed past a crowd outside the Charms classroom and caught her own name mid-sentence.

"—Wyenn's just always been like that. Cute, but manipulative."Her hands clenched. She didn't slow down. Didn't look up. Just walked.

Talia had to jog to catch up.

"Don't listen to them," she muttered. "You know how rumors work. They're like cursed skincare potions. Always irritating. Never accurate."

Ches gave a brittle smile and waved it off like it didn't matter.

But it did.

It always had.

Even after all this time, the ache from that first heartbreak — the confusion, the silence, the stupid unanswered questions — was still curled somewhere under her ribs.

And now it was back.

Live.

Trending.

Unavoidable.

▕⃝⃤ 9¾

The castle buzzed with music and lanternlight.

Someone had thrown a party — probably in the Slytherin common room, if the echo of bass and dramatic laughter drifting through the stone halls was any indication. Ches had lasted a whole four minutes before faking a headache and ducking out through a side stairwell like a ghost.

Now, the cool hush of night greeted her like an old friend.

She crept through the garden trail leading to the Astronomy Tower's courtyard, boots crunching faintly against the gravel. Moonlight filtered through the hedges, spilling silvery shadows over cobblestone and ivy. It was quieter here — safe from the gossip, the stares, the old wounds clawing their way back to the surface.

The bench sat just where she remembered it. Crooked. Slightly mossy. Hidden beneath the curve of a twisted ash tree and a curtain of creeping wisteria. The spot had always felt like it was waiting for her — like it remembered something, too.

Ches sank onto the bench with a heavy sigh, curling her arms around herself as if that could contain the knot in her chest.

She tilted her head to the sky.

The stars blinked overhead — sharp, distant, indifferent.

She let her eyes follow one of them, pretending it didn't feel like the whole world was watching her fall apart in whispers. Pretending she wasn't angry. Or hurt. Or, worst of all, remembering.

Footsteps broke the silence behind her.

She stiffened—but didn't turn.

Not until—

"Figured I'd find you here,"

A familiar voice. Calm. Maddeningly calm.

"You always liked this bench."

She blinked slowly.

Of course it was him.

She didn't need to turn to know he had his hands stuffed in his pockets, probably leaning a little too casually, wearing that not-quite-smile he always used when he was trying to sound nonchalant but meant every word.

The breeze rustled the wisteria above them.

She stared ahead, throat tight, the stars blurring slightly at the edges.

The silence between them settled like dew — soft, quiet, and unbearably heavy.

Ches didn't look at him.

She kept her gaze locked on the stars, jaw clenched, heart drumming far too loudly for such a still night.

"Thought you were going to that ridiculous party."Her voice came out sharper than she meant — brittle, like she hadn't spoken in hours and forgot how to sound casual.

Draco shrugged behind her. She didn't have to look to feel it.

"Wasn't in the mood. And you weren't there to ruin it, so what's the point?"

That earned him a snort. She rolled her eyes, lips twitching despite everything.

And yet—something fluttered in her chest. Annoyingly soft. Like a page turning too soon.

She tucked her knees up on the bench and wrapped her arms tighter around herself, breathing in the scent of wisteria and cold stone.

Another long pause.

Then, quieter:

"You hear what they're saying?"

She didn't answer.

Didn't flinch.

But she felt her whole body tense, like she could keep the words out by sheer force of will.

"About the past. About... us."

Still nothing.

Not even a breath.

Draco stepped closer, boots scuffing the gravel gently as he eased down onto the bench beside her. He didn't touch her. Just sat close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating off his coat sleeve.

His gaze drifted skyward.

"They're wrong, you know," he said finally, voice low, careful. "About you."

That got her attention.

She turned her head slowly, the stars forgotten. Her eyes found his face—serious, unreadable in the dim glow of moonlight.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He nodded, gaze steady. "You're not a bad person. Not even close."

Her breath hitched.

It was stupid—how two sentences could undo her like that. Like some dam cracking wide open beneath her ribcage.

She didn't speak.

Didn't trust herself to.

Because for a moment, all she could do was sit there under the stars, pretending she didn't feel anything.

And failing miserably.

Draco finally looked at her.

Really looked at her.

And for once—no smirk. No taunting gleam in his eye. Just something raw and unguarded beneath the moonlight.

"Back then," he said quietly, "I didn't know how to... defend you. Or us. I should've."

The words hit with the softness of a feather and the weight of a falling stone.

Ches's throat tightened. She stared straight ahead, blinking hard. Her fingers curled into her sleeves, nails pressing crescent moons into the fabric.

She said nothing.

Because if she spoke—if she so much as breathed wrong—she might melt straight through the bench and become a sentient puddle of I Have Feelings And Absolutely No Coping Skills.

So instead, she stared up at the stars like they'd give her answers. Like if she looked unimpressed enough, maybe her heart would stop doing backflips like it was auditioning for the Quidditch World Cup.

Draco didn't push.

He didn't fill the silence with more words, or lean closer like he was owed something.

He just sat there.

Quiet.

Real.

And that somehow made it worse.

After what felt like both a second and a lifetime, Ches exhaled through her nose.

"Still not a date," she muttered, voice scratchy.Draco's lips quirked, just the smallest tilt at the corner.

"Obviously," he murmured. "You didn't even wear your glitter badge."That earned him a sideways glance. She fought the smile threatening her face, but failed. Just a little.

"Shame," he added, eyes back on the stars. "Would've made the whole 'emotional vulnerability under the night sky' thing really pop."She bumped her shoulder lightly against his.

Totally on accident.

Definitely not fond.

And together, they sat there in the cool hush of night—just long enough for the stars to blink a little brighter.

▕⃝⃤ 9¾

The room was quiet. Everyone else had long since gone to bed.

Ches Wyenn, however, was aggressively not fine.

She sat cross-legged on her bed, wrapped in a blanket like a rejected burrito, glaring down at her diary like it had personally betrayed her.

She uncapped her quill with dramatic flair and stabbed it onto the page.

REPEL TACTICS: PHASE 4 — DOOMSPIRAL MODE

Do NOT sit under the stars with him againDo NOT let him say things like "you're not a bad person" in that voiceDo NOT emotionally combust like a Victorian heroine with a fainting conditionDo NOT NOTICE how his eyes look softer at night what the hellAnd ABSOLUTELY do not bump shoulders with him like you're in some slow-burn, emotionally loaded romance novelWE ARE AT WAR.NOT WHATEVER THIS IS.

She paused. Glared harder.

Then, after a beat, scribbled below it:

"He remembered the bench."

A very small, very dangerous smile tugged at her mouth.

She growled, slammed the diary shut, and chucked it onto the nightstand like it offended her.

The blanket burrito tightened.

And from across the room, a sleepy voice mumbled:

"So... how was not your date?"Ches let out a muffled scream into her pillow.

Talia cackled.