A week passed, and Hogwarts seemed to exhale.
The writing on the wall was scrubbed clean, Mrs. Norris had been whisked away to the hospital wing, and the professors resumed pretending everything was fine. Lessons carried on, homework piled up, and by midweek, it almost felt like the castle had swallowed the fear whole.
For Shya, that was enough.
No more dreams. No whispers in her sleep. No forests or blood. Just the usual chaos of classes, friends, and the endless irritation of Lockhart's "dramatic readings."
By the time Friday rolled around, she was almost starting to feel normal again — or as normal as Hogwarts ever got.
Talora, though, hadn't been sleeping well. The nightmares clung to her like mist, quieter now but persistent, strange impressions of vines creeping along her walls, voices whispering behind her eyelids. She never said much about them, only smiled when asked, insisting she was "fine."
But Shya saw it — the paler cheeks, the faint glassiness in her eyes, the way she lingered near sunlight like it steadied her.
"Bob," Talora said one morning at breakfast, trying for brightness and nearly convincing herself, "if you make one more joke about Lockhart's teeth, I'm going to transfigure your spoon into a slug."
Shya grinned. "Worth it. The man glows in the dark, Bob. I swear he has his own lighting crew."
Mandy snorted pumpkin juice through her nose. "You're awful."
"Accurate," Shya corrected.
Laughter rolled down the Ravenclaw table. For a moment, the world tilted toward normal again.
The morning of the first Quidditch match dawned clear and biting. The whole castle buzzed with excitement: Gryffindor vs. Slytherin, first match of the season — and Cassian Black's and Roman Nott's debut.
"They're both starting?" Padma asked incredulously as they made their way to breakfast.
"Chaser and Keeper," Shya said, pouring herself pumpkin juice. "Cassian's been training like he's auditioning for a Nimbus advert, and Roman's basically welded to the goalposts."
Talora gave a small, fond smile. "You say that like you're not proud."
"Oh, I'm so proud," Shya said. "But if Cassian flips his hair mid-air one more time, I'll hit him with a Summoning Charm and end it."
By the time they reached the stands, the pitch was a living storm of red and green. Banners waved, students roared, and Lee Jordan's commentary carried across the cold wind.
"—and here come the Slytherin team! Black, Nott, Warrington — all looking very confident, and possibly allergic to humility—"
"Jordan!" McGonagall's reprimand echoed up from below.
Shya and Talora laughed, the tension easing for the first time in days.
The whistle blew — and the game began.
Cassian shot forward immediately, cutting through the air like lightning, Quaffle tucked close. His flying was fierce, elegant in the way swordplay was elegant — all precision and threat. He passed to a teammate, looped under a Bludger, and scored within minutes.
The Slytherin stands erupted.
Roman guarded the hoops with the same calm ferocity. Twice a scarlet blur came tearing toward him, and twice he deflected the Quaffle with gloved ease.
"He makes that look easy," Lisa said, wide-eyed.
Shya grinned. "That's Roman for you."
Then, mid-air, something changed.
A Bludger — the one aimed at Gryffindor — wasn't behaving right. Instead of swerving toward whoever had the Quaffle, it locked onto a single figure.
"Wait—what's it doing?" Mandy squinted.
Talora's breath caught. "It's following Potter."
Down on the field, Potter was darting and diving, the Bludger shrieking after him like a living thing. Gasps rippled through the stands as he narrowly avoided a collision, the rogue ball smashing into goalposts and splintering wood.
Cassian wheeled his broom to dodge the chaos, barely missing a collision with Angelina Johnson. Roman shouted something across the field — warning, disbelief — as the crowd's cheers twisted into panic.
"It's going to kill him!" someone screamed nearby.
For nearly ten minutes, Harry looped, rolled, and plunged, the Bludger slamming after him with relentless speed.
Finally, with a last desperate dive, he tried to seize the Snitch — just as the Bludger caught him squarely in the arm.
There was a sickening crack.
"Ouch!" Mandy winced. "Did you see that?!"
Talora flinched, her hands gripping the railing. "His arm—"
"Looks like it's made of rubber," Shya muttered, squinting. "Oh, lovely, Lockhart's running over. We're saved."
They watched in collective horror as Professor Lockhart bounded onto the pitch, wand flashing dramatically.
"Don't worry, Harry! I'll fix that in a jiffy!" his voice boomed.
A spark. A pop. A small explosion of glitter.
And then — the arm went limp. Completely limp.
"Where'd it go?" Lisa said in disbelief. "His bones! Where'd they—"
"Disappeared," Shya said flatly. "He just vanished his bones. Brilliant. Truly the man to lead us through dark times."
Even Talora couldn't help a tiny, strangled laugh through her concern.
Down on the pitch, Harry was being ushered away by Madam Pomfrey, cradling what looked like an empty sleeve. Lockhart preened under the crowd's horrified applause.
"And that," Shya said solemnly, "is why I will never trust a man with self-writing valentines."
Despite the chaos, Slytherin was declared the winner — the score sealed just before the Bludger incident.
Their section exploded in celebration. Cassian and Roman were hoisted briefly by their teammates, Cassian still grinning like he'd orchestrated the entire thing, Roman managing a rare, crooked smile.
Shya cheered with them, but her eyes flicked to Talora, who wasn't smiling now — only staring at the emptying pitch, quiet and pale.
"You okay?" Shya asked softly.
Talora blinked, as though coming back to herself. "Yeah. Just tired."
"Still not sleeping?"
A pause. "Not really."
Shya nudged her gently. "Well, if you pass out, I'll tell everyone it's a protest against bad refereeing."
That earned a faint laugh. "You'd do that, wouldn't you?"
"Obviously," Shya said. "Anything for the bit."
That evening, the castle glowed with the after-energy of the match — victory cheers echoing from the dungeons, stories retold in every common room.
Shya and Talora sat by the Ravenclaw fire long after the noise faded. The flames painted the room in amber light; snow had begun to fall beyond the high windows.
"You ever wish things could just stay like this?" Talora asked quietly. "Before everything gets strange again."
Shya tilted her head. "You mean peaceful? Boring? No chance of Lockhart performing unsolicited surgery?"
Talora smiled faintly. "Something like that."
"Yeah," Shya said, leaning back. "But knowing Hogwarts, I'd give it a week before another catastrophe."
The clock chimed softly. Talora's eyes were heavy, her shoulders drooping — but she was still fighting to stay awake. Shya didn't press.
She only smiled, eyes tracing the flicker of firelight on the walls.
It was nice, she thought, to have a night that felt almost normal again — even if only for a little while.