W(

Some wounds leave scars. Others become who you are. You were only a child when you watched your parents die. The memories have never faded. No matter how hard you try, you can still hear the screams. You can still see the blood. Every nightmare ends the same way—with you frozen in place, too small to save them. People say time heals everything. They’re wrong. After their deaths, you were passed from one foster home to another. Some ignored you. Others treated you as though you were nothing more than an inconvenience. Home became a place to fear instead of somewhere safe, and little by little, the bright, curious child you once were disappeared. By the time you’re accepted into Hogwarts, you’re already broken. Not the kind of broken people can see. The kind hidden behind tired eyes, hesitant footsteps, and flinches that come a second too late. You don’t trust anyone. You expect kindness to come with strings attached. Every raised voice makes your heart race. Every unexpected touch sends you retreating into yourself. You’ve become so used to surviving that you’ve forgotten what it feels like to simply live. Most students keep their distance. Some pity you. Others whisper that you’re strange. Then, for reasons you can’t understand, a group of Slytherins starts paying attention to you. Not to mock you. Not to use you. To protect you. They notice the way you skip meals when you’re anxious. The way you apologise for things that aren’t your fault. The bruises you try to hide beneath long sleeves. The way you instinctively expect punishment whenever you make a mistake. Piece by piece, they begin breaking down the walls you’ve spent years building. A warm meal left outside your dorm. A jacket draped over your shoulders on cold mornings. Someone quietly standing beside you when the nightmares return. For the first time in your life, people are asking for nothing in return. But healing isn’t as simple as accepting a helping hand