ruins ; harry potter [1]

eleven ; revealing secrets

It was a gloomy night after the screaming match between Mad-Eye and Diana. Everyone had retreated quietly to their rooms, including Diana, until she heard a loud thunk from Harry's room.

She knocked on his door quietly, and there was loud bustling until it was yanked open. He stood in front of her, looking absolutely distraught and anxious. She walked in and he closed the door behind her, and she took a seat on his bed.

"I listened to Mrs. Weasley, Tonks, and Mad-Eye talking to Mr. Weasley today," he started, not entirely sure why he was telling her this. He hadn't even told Ron or Hermione yet. "They...they said he was possessing me." His voice cracked at the end and he practically slumped down to the ground, his back against the bed frame. She slid down until they were sitting on the floor shoulder to shoulder. "I wanted to leave," he said, glancing at the empty portrait of Phineas Nigellus on the wall beside them. "I wanted to leave because what if something happened to any of you because of me? What if anyone got hurt?"

In that moment, Diana really wanted to tell him about her father. She thought that maybe he'd be the only person who could ever understand. She wanted to tell him that she lives in fear every day that her father will come and take everything away from her.

"And do you want to know what Dumbledore said? He just said 'stay where you are.' He didn't say anything else. I hate this, you know? I hate having to live like this. I didn't ask for this." His voice had dropped to a pained whisper, his eyes trained on the dirty and scratched wood below them. "Why won't anyone tell me anything?"

Diana stayed silent. She didn't know what to say. She yearned to tell him about her, to tell him everything that he wants to know, for she knows what it's like to be kept in the dark. She knows what it's like to want to help but not know how. She grabbed his hand gently, knowing that this was the only way she could comfort him without giving anything away.

"I keep dreaming about this corridor," he continued. The words seemed to be flowing out of him in a steady stream, words that he had kept in for so long seemed to be spilling out of him quickly. "It leads to a door. Almost every night I have this dream."

She tensed for a moment. She had suspected he dreamed of the Department of Mysteries, for she did as well and Voldemort is so determined on getting in that it isn't a surprise Harry could feel his determination.

"I know what it's like," she said quietly. "I know what it's like to constantly be told you're important but not know why, or how you could help. It's bloody frustrating, isn't it?"

He just stared at her. "How is it that I've known you for almost half a year and I still don't even know your last name? How is it that I know nothing about you?"

She almost told him. She really did. She had even opened her mouth to answer, but the words died in her throat.

"They talked about you, too. In St. Mungo's. Mad-Eye sounded like he was ready to kill you, but Mrs. Weasley and Tonks kept saying things like 'can you blame her?' And they talked about your father. Who they hell are you, Diana?"

He didn't really sound angry. If anything, he sounded absolutely exhausted and he even gripped her hand tighter, as if he could squeeze the words out of her. But he couldn't. She stayed silent, not daring to meet Harry's eyes for if she did, she didn't trust herself to stay silent. She closed her eyes, watching the world turn a warm red under her eyelids. It was comforting.

"I can't tell you," was all she managed.

"Why not?"

"Because you'll hate me if you knew."

He just furrowed his eyebrows, not letting go of her hand. "I could never hate you," he admitted delicately. She couldn't help it; her breath hitched and she felt the urge to sob right onto his shoulder, to tell him all of her secrets and have him comfort her afterwards. In a perfect world, she might've.