Internal turmoil
September slipped away from Hogwarts, taking with it the last golden whispers of summer. The leaves, once vibrant and full of life, faded into hues of amber and copper, rustling as northern winds swept through the castle grounds. The crisp air flushed the students' cheeks as they hurried to class, scarves wound tightly around their throats in defiance of the encroaching cold.
The news grew grimmer with each passing day. Reports of Death Eater attacks littered the front pages of every newspaper, both Muggle and wizarding. The only difference lay in the explanations: while the wizarding world braced for war, Muggles clung to rationalizations of natural disasters and freak accidents. Entire families, Muggle and magical alike, vanished overnight. Yet, the horrors had become so routine that students scarcely reacted anymore. Some refused to read the papers at all, unwilling to let the ink-stained tragedies darken their days.
Adela looked as if she belonged among those grim headlines. Weeks of relentless magical practice had earned her admiration from both professors and peers, their praise feeding her pride, her ambition, but definitely not her health. Exhaustion clung to her like a second skin, its weight pulling her down more with each sleepless night. The dreams had worsened. They stretched longer, grew sharper, and though she couldn’t explain why, they felt closer.
The toll was evident. Shadows pooled beneath her eyes in dark violet hollows, her once-lively gaze dulled by fatigue. Her lips, usually soft and flushed, were pale and cracked, torn raw by her nervous habit of picking at them. Her skin, normally radiant, had lost its glow, leaving her looking hollow, fragile. Even the way she moved had changed. She no longer walked but drifted, slow and weary, haunting the corridors like some lost soul. A ghost. A vampire. Something not quite alive.
She noticed, of course. How could she not? But vanity had no place in her priorities. Her body was not a temple but a vessel at the moment, and if wearing it down meant proving she belonged, proving she could be the best, then so be it.
It wasn’t until Halloween night that she could no longer ignore the consequences.
She had planned to skip the feast entirely to get in a few hours of practice, but Hermione had other ideas. Dragging her from their last lesson, she all but forced Adela into the shower, insisted she wear something nice, and even dabbed a touch of makeup over her tired face before pulling her downstairs.
They had grown close in the past weeks. Since that day after Transfiguration, they had fallen into an easy rhythm; studying together, practicing spells, Hermione offering tips and techniques. Not that Adela needed much help, she was already executing everything perfectly, even if the magic still tried to resist her. But the company was welcome. Hermione’s presence was grounding, a reminder that she wasn’t entirely alone in this strange new world.
And so, against her better judgment, Adela let herself be led down the moving staircases toward the Great Hall, Hermione’s voice filling the silence between them.
“You deserve a break,” Hermione said, eyeing her with thinly veiled concern. “You’ve killing yourself with these practices. And, honestly, Adela, it’s starting to show.”
Adela scoffed, lifting a hand to her lips. “Oh, thank you, Hermione. Truly. What a lovely thing to say.”
Hermione swatted her hand away before she could tug at the peeling skin. “Stop that. You’re hurting yourself.”
“It’s just this one little piece of skin that’s getting on my nerves” Adela muttered, scrunching her brows in frustration and attempting again.
Hermione’s glare was unimpressed. “You’ll only make it worse.”
Adela huffed but couldn’t quite suppress a smirk. “I think it gives me a sort of devil-may-care look, don’t you? Hot, freshly fed vampire vibes.” She pouted, striking a dramatic pose.
Hermione rolled her eyes, looking down at Adela’s lips. “If you’re into vampires, sure. Looks positively irresistible.”
But she wasn’t entirely wrong. There was something about Adela’s exhaustion-warped beauty that grabbed attention, and not in at entirely bad way.
By the time they reached the Great Hall, their conversation had shifted to lighter topics. The moment they sat down, however, Ron took one look at her and pulled a face.
“What happened to you?” he blurted. “You look—”
“Awful,” Adela finished for him. “Yes, I know. Thank you for the reminder, Ron.” She picked up her goblet, swirling its contents before taking a sip. “Unfortunately, this is what I have to look like if I want to keep up with my magic. And considering it’s working, I’d say it’s worth the price. A few hours of sleep are nothing if it means catching up to the rest of you.” She didn’t want to admit it to herself, but a slight pang of hurt squeezed at her heart.
Ron rolled his eyes, propping his chin in his hand like a sulking child. Across the table, Hermione shot him a glare sharp enough to cut through steel.
Adela picked at her food, her eyes unfocused and her thoughts lost in a trance. Obsession was slowly consuming her mind, and she could feel it feeding on her. She knew she wanted to be perfect, she craved it, needed it, but her current state was not making it easy for her. She was aware that not only she looked it, but she felt terrible as well. She had not been sleeping, eating or taking care of herself in any way, her mind entirely focused on improving. As the voices of her friends chattered muffled around her, she regretted to find herself disappointed. Hurt. But she wasn’t dwelling on her failure or lack of skills this time.
A knot formed in her throat as she licked her lips, a metallic taste of dried blood invading her mouth. If she had learnt anything in the orphanage, it was that the only person she could be sure to rely on for the rest of her life was herself, and she was hurting her. She was priving her of her needs, her health, and it was taking its toll. She looked down at her hands, two steel rings resting around two of her fingers, and willed her eyes to not start clouding with tears. What would she do if this was one of her friends instead of her? How would it be if someone else was the one mistreating her? Why was she excluded of blame just because she was the one doing it to herself?
She felt hurt, angry at herself. You’re all you’ve got, she reminded herself bitterly. And yet, you’re doing everything you can to destroy that too. Smart.
It wasn’t the first time she had felt like this, divided. She was used to feeling like there were two of her. The good, responsible, healthy Adela, pushing towards her success, fighting for her good interests, for her well-being and her happiness. Then there was the other her, a dark version that wanted to stay in the darkness, didn’t care for improvement but for comfort, even if it brought pain. During her almost eighteen years, she had almost felt like a child of divorce, being fought over by two stubborn parents who both assumed they knew what was best for her. The good Adela reached up, wanted the best for her, wanted her to be good, to be happy. She was the decent parent, the one who pushed the other Adela up, trying to get her out of the darkness, trying to get her to see the light, to see what was best for their child and for herself. But this Adela did not care for it. She was the one who stayed in bed, refused food and pushed herself in whatever direction that she could find comfort in, whether it be from pride, laziness or self-sacrifice.
Adela felt herself get smaller in her seat, tears threatening to spill from her eyes as she kept looking at her hands. She felt the sudden urge to hug herself and apologize. She hated how she was feeling, a feeling she recognized and knew all too well. She felt helpless and small, like a child, but at the same time, like the parent who had to take responsibility, because no one else would. There was no one to comfort her, no one to tell her it was okay. She had spent her whole life playing both roles, and she hated how lost it made her feel. Yet, at the same time, she understood her feelings completely, and somehow, she hated that even more.
Her mind flickered to something else. Someone else. Before she could stop herself, her gaze drifted toward the staff table, searching for a familiar figure. He wasn’t there. She hadn’t expected him to be. She turned back around, her expression unchanged, but she felt a slight pang of something tug at her chest.
Poking at her untouched food absentmindedly, her thoughts circled back to where they started.
The Halloween feast had come and gone, leaving behind the scent of pumpkin spice and lingering laughter in the Great Hall. Adela, however, found no comfort in the festivities. Even as Hermione chatted animatedly beside her, she barely registered the words. Fatigue clung to her bones, her mind clouded by the worry of another upcoming sleepless night.
She walked alongside Hermione through the dimly lit corridors, the warmth of the torches casting flickering shadows on the stone walls.
“You didn’t eat much,” Hermione noted, concern laced in her voice.
Adela sighed, rubbing her temples. “I wasn’t that hungry.”
Hermione pursed her lips. “That’s becoming a habit, you know. Not eating, not sleeping properly…”
Adela forced a smirk. “You’re starting to sound like my mother.”
The joke fell flat. Hermione didn’t laugh. She simply tilted her head, scrutinizing Adela with a softness that made her shift uncomfortably.
“Now is when you’re supposed to laugh…”
“I’m serious,” Hermione murmured. “You push yourself too hard. You should let yourself rest, even just for a night.”
Adela stayed quiet as she kept walking.
Hermione sighed. “I know you want to be the best. Trust me, I get it, you don’t know how much I get it. I’m exactly like you in that way, and everybody knows it. But letting yourself rest is just as smart and useful as practicing and studying. You’re heading towards burning yourself out or a serious injury, and those are going to put you at a much larger disadvantage than resting properly.”
Adela was quiet for a few seconds before she replied quietly, looking down at her shiny patent leather shoes. “I know”.
After promising Hermione multiple times that she would head straight to bed, a promise she fully intended to keep, Adela parted ways with her friend and approached the door to the common room. She answered the riddle with a practiced ease and pushed the door open. As soon as she stepped inside, her senses were assaulted by the jarring contrast of loud, vibrating music and flashing, erratic lights. She quickly closed the door behind her, feeling a wave of discomfort wash over her as the energy of the room struck her.
The usual sanctuary of quiet study and relaxed conversation was now a scene of chaotic revelry. Students swirled in a dance of abandon, their laughter blending with the thumping beats of an upbeat song. Adela instinctively covered her ears with her fingers, the sharp contrast between the hushed corridors and the riotous sound aching in her eardrums. Enchanted floating carved pumpkins hung in the heavy air. The navy-blue couches, once havens of late-night study sessions, were now occupied by a group of boys, their eyes bloodshot, passing a joint with carefree abandon as their laughter bounced off the walls. She turned away, her eyes landing on a couple huddled in a dark corner, lost in each other’s embrace, their drunken kisses a blur of tangled limbs.
The room, dimly lit by flickering candlelight, was a haze of mischief and noise, far removed from the studious retreat it usually was. Normally, Adela would have found herself swept up in the excitement, her heart racing to the beat of the music. She was no stranger to such nights, after all. But tonight, she was resolute. She had made a promise to Hermione, and more importantly, to herself. She moved swiftly, weaving through the sea of bodies, her eyes fixed on the staircase ahead, desperate to escape unnoticed.
She reached the first step and exhaled a relieved breath, but before she could slip away completely, a hand snaked out to catch her wrist.
“Theo,” she said flatly, turning to face him.
Theo Nott grinned lazily at her, his sharp eyes gleaming with amusement. “Leaving so soon? You wound me, Benson.”
“I’m tired,” she replied, attempting to pull her wrist free. He didn’t hold her tightly, just enough to keep her there, lingering in the warm scent of cologne and firewhiskey. He seemed to notice she was not in the mood to party, and the hold that he had on her wrist moved down. His hand opened beneath hers, palm up, fingers barely curled as her own rested lightly on top. He wasn’t gripping her hand, just holding its weight, as if waiting for her to decide whether to pull away or let him close his fingers around hers.
“Tired? You sure? The night’s still young,” he said lightly, his voice gentle. “But I get it, if you need to rest.”
Adela raised an eyebrow and looked down at the place where their hands connected. “You’re surprisingly nice about it.”
He shrugged casually. “I’m just looking out for you. Don’t think you have to stay if you don’t want to.”
She glanced toward the stairs longingly, then back at him. “I really should go. I’ve got a lot to catch up on.”
Theo nodded, a knowing smile on his face, and he slipped his hand from hers, his touch lingering for a second longer than it ought. “Alright, alright. But you know… if you change your mind, I would love to steal you for a dance.”
Adela gave him a small smile. “Thanks, Theo. I’ll see you around.”
With that, she managed to pull away, ascending the stairs to her dormitory, the sound of the party fading behind her as Theo watched her retreating figure.
The dorm was blissfully empty, silent apart from the distant thrum of music below. For the first time that night, she exhaled fully, shoulders loosening as she sat on her soft, comfortable bed. She was tempted to get into it at once, but she decided against it.
A long, hot shower melted the tension from her muscles, the steam curling around her as she indulged in the feeling of warmth. When she emerged, she carefully went through her skincare and body care routine, taking her time, savoring the quiet. She brushed her teeth, combed through her damp hair, and slipped into bed, cocooned in fresh sheets and soft candlelight. She looked at the clock. It was barely nine. She smiled and almost laughed giddily at the thought of sleeping in.
The guilt that had weighed on her at dinner had eased considerably. Taking care of herself, setting time aside just for her, had felt good. Still, the emotions from the Great Hall lingered in the back of her mind.
She reached into her drawer and pulled out a thick, battered notebook bound in brown leather. Old postcards and photographs peeked out from between the pages, making it look even fuller than it already was. Flipping through it, her eyes lingered on poems, diary entries, drawings, memories collected over the years. Along with her locket, this was her most treasured possession.
Lying on her stomach, she began to write, letting her thoughts spill onto the page. Some sentences trailed off unfinished as new ideas took their place, each one demanding to be put down immediately, as if she were afraid she would forget. With every word, the weight on her chest lightened. When she finally closed the notebook, she felt clearer, steadier.
She would revisit the entry in a few days, when she could look at it from a more objective perspective.
Just as she was about to settle, she remembered something.
Reaching into her drawer, she pulled out a small vial, the Dreamless Sleep potion she had brewed in Snape’s detention. She turned it over in her hands, watching the thick, purple liquid swirl.
A part of her ached to drink it. Just one sip, and she’d finally get some relief.
But another part hesitated. Maybe there’d be a time when she would need it more. She had always been that way, saving everything just in case she would need it in the future. She remembered the orphanage, where most of the times, the candy she had been saving for “special occasions” went to waste and she had to throw it away.
With a sigh, she placed it back in the drawer, unwilling to rely on it just yet.
She settled back in her bed, closing her eyes, ready for sleep to conquer her mind. But it didn’t. Instead, she tossed and turned around in her bed like a maniac, trying to find the perfect position. She was beginning to get frustrated. She opened her eyes and her gaze flickered to her jewelry. In an effort to be rid of anything that might disturb her sleep, she removed her silver rings and bracelets, placing them neatly beside the potion. Finally, she unclasped her locket and set it down as well, thinking nothing of it.
Instantly, a strange sense of relief washed over her. She felt lighter. As if an unseen weight had been lifted from her very soul. The sensation was so stark, so oddly freeing, that she almost reached for the locket again, but she didn’t. It was just jewelry. Just metal. Nothing more. She was probably just not used to feeling the absence of its steady weight on her chest.
Settling into bed, she inhaled the scent of parchment and lavender, determined on letting it lull her. But sleep did not come immediately. Her mind, traitorous and persistent, drifted.
Notions about the last few weeks clouded her head. She still hadn’t assimilated how much her life had changed after the letter. Her thoughts drifted to her arrival at Hogwarts, the meeting of her friends, the talk with Dumbledore, her unexpected connection to Voldemort, and even a certain pair of dark eyes quickly flashed through her head before she forced them out.
Without the locket around her neck, her thoughts flowed effortlessly. She felt so comfortable in her own mind that she almost didn’t want to sleep at all.
But eventually, she did.
And for the first time in weeks, she slept deeply. No nightmares. No waking in terror.
Just peace.
The sunlight streamed through the window as Adela woke up, the lingering warmth of her peaceful sleep wrapping around her like a soft embrace. She stretched lazily, a wave of satisfaction washing over her as she realized just how well she’d slept. For the first time in weeks, she felt utterly rested, energized, even.
Her body felt lighter, like the weight of exhaustion had lifted, and she couldn’t help but smile as she swung her legs out of bed. Her feet touched the cool floor, and she stood with a sudden rush of enthusiasm, eager to start her day. She hurried to the bathroom to begin her morning routine.
As she washed her face and ran a brush through her hair, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and paused. Her skin had a glow to it, a freshness she hadn’t noticed in the last month. Even her eyes seemed brighter, sharper. The difference was striking. It was like a fog had lifted from her appearance, and she could hardly believe it.
Adela chuckled quietly to herself, realizing how much of a change one good night’s sleep could make. She smiled, taking it as a sign. With renewed confidence, she decided to go all out today. She applied a light layer of makeup, natural, but enough to accentuate her features, and made sure her uniform was perfectly pressed. She adjusted the collar, smoothed the fabric, and made sure her hair, falling straight to her lower back, was neat and styled just right.
When she finally left for breakfast, she felt like a new person, a subtle excitement building inside her. She had been so absorbed in her own content that she completely forgot to put her jewelry back on, which now laid at the bottom of her nightstand’s drawer.
When she entered the Great Hall, her friends were already gathered around the Gryffindor table. The moment they saw her, their eyes widened.
"Adela, what happened to you?" Ginny said with surprise in her voice. “You look great!”
Adela smiled softly at her but said nothing. She sat down on Hermione’s side, who was proudly beaming up at her. Adela pulled her in by her shoulder and planted a tender kiss on her cheek, thanking her quietly. "You’re the best," she murmured. Hermione’s smile was wiped from her face and was replaced by a deep blush, her face turning beet red as she stammered a flustered "It’s nothing," looking down in embarrassment.
Adela settled into the seat next to Hermione, who seemed to be still recovering from the sudden attention, and started filling her plate with waffles, syrup and sausages. Ron, however, let out a scoff and muttered under his breath as he got up from the table. “I’m late for class,” he grumbled, before walking off without another word.
Adela saw him leave with a confused expression on her face, but she brushed it off and focused on enjoying her breakfast. She wasn’t going to let Ron’s attitude ruin her day. She felt good about the previous night, about having listened to herself and her needs and acting on them. The result had been more than satisfactory. The food seemed tastier than usual, and the conversation flowed easily. Her friends were surprised at the change in her demeanor, she was more relaxed, more at ease than they had ever seen her. They seemed genuinely impressed, and Adela found herself laughing and chatting with them, feeling lighter than she had in a long time.
After breakfast, she made her way to Herbology. The walk through the Hogwarts grounds was calm, quiet, and settled the excitement she had woken up with, substituting it for a tranquil satisfaction. She could feel the cool breeze brushing dark strands of her from her face, blowing the fabric of her school robes and wrapping her frame around in the chilly autumn’s wind. She took a moment to herself before entering the greenhouse, relishing the soft sound of the chirping birds and leaves being blown around by the light wind. As she entered the greenhouses, she was greeted by professor Sprout, who looked just as surprised to see her as her friends had in the Hall.
The lesson proved to be one of the most satisfying ones yet. She effortlessly weaved spells to tend to the plants, her wand movements fluid and precise. The incantations came out of her mouth like second nature, and the magic responded instantly, humming to life with a soft glow.
The plants seemed to react to her as if they were already familiar with her, blooming with rapid intensity at her touch, their leaves curling upward in response to her charm. It was a stark contrast to her usual struggles, the way magic used to feel like a battle. Today, it felt like an old friend that she had just reconnected with.
Even Professor Sprout noticed. “You’re positively glowing today, Adela. Have you been practicing?” she asked, her eyes widening in surprise as the plants around her bloomed effortlessly.
Adela gave a soft, surprised smile. “Yeah, I have.” The recognition made her insides flutter.
Adela packed her things and left the greenhouses behind as she made her way up the grounds again and towards the dungeons. The giddiness and satisfaction that had been ruling her day were suddenly replaced by a sense of dread. She had tried to keep thoughts of a certain professor out of her mind completely, but they had come back to attack her.
After the disturbing thoughts that had invaded her mind after her detention with Snape, she had figured she had probably been too tired to think straight, or imagining things, or even ovulating, anything that could distract her from the fact that she had felt a genuine, however small, attraction to the least appealing man in Scotland at the moment.
She felt nervous, guilty, embarrassed of herself and her own feelings, of finding someone like Snape attractive, someone so dismissive and unfriendly and rude. Her mind drifted to the thoughts she had written down in her notebook the night before. Nothing about Snape, of course. Writing it down would have made it real, it would have manifested it into reality, one she could no longer escape from. She felt like a ridiculous and silly student who had a crush on a teacher, and that word made her cringe. I do not.
She was afraid of admitting her unbidden thoughts to herself as if the longer she thought about it the more real they would become, but at the same time, as she walked towards the dungeons, she could not help her mind from drifting back to him.
She debated on skipping, but that would surely earn her another detention, which would mean more time alone with him and with her thoughts, and she believed there was no worse way to go about this matter.
She arrived at the dungeons, her nerves peaking. She straightened down her uniform and forced herself to carry an impassive expression, but the flush that was creeping up her cheeks could not be hidden as easily. She decided to ignore it and walked in the classroom, looking down at her shoes like they were incredibly interesting.
The classroom was dimly lit, the torches on the walls casting long, flickering shadows over the stone surfaces. The air was thick with the scent of crushed roots and simmering brews, but even the usual comfort she found in the meticulous nature of potion-making couldn’t steady her at the moment. Adela’s mind was a battlefield, thoughts colliding and unraveling before she could even begin to suppress them.
She took her seat near the middle, grateful to be out of Snape’s immediate line of sight. Not that it would make much difference, he had a way of making her feel scrutinized no matter where she sat. Her fingers fumbled slightly as she arranged her ingredients, and she cursed herself for being so unnerved.
She muttered annoyed under her breath, trying to push away the memory of last night’s thoughts, the humiliating realization that she had, even for a second, found something, someone, attractive that she had no business feeling anything for.
“Focus, Miss Benson,” came the cool, silken voice from the front of the room. Her head snapped up, meeting Snape’s sharp gaze for only a fraction of a second before she looked back down, heat rushing to her face.
The class continued, but Adela was barely present. Her hands moved on instinct, measuring, chopping, stirring, anything to keep herself occupied. Yet her mind betrayed her, dragging her back to the weight of his voice, the way his presence settled over the room like an inescapable force.
She had made up her mind to avoid him as much as possible, to push away this ridiculous and misplaced fascination, but it was impossible when she was stuck in his class, hanging onto every word, analyzing every movement.
Ridiculous. Silly. Absurd.
The bell rang, jolting her from her thoughts. She exhaled sharply, only now realizing how tightly she had been gripping the glass stirring rod. She shoved her things into her bag, eager to escape, to breathe air that wasn’t thick with the scent of brewed potions and his ever-imposing presence.
She was almost at the door when his voice stopped her in her tracks.
“Benson. Stay behind.”
The dread hit instantly. Slowly, she turned back, watching as the last of the students filed out, leaving the two of them alone in the dimly lit classroom. She forced herself to remain impassive, stepping forward with measured caution.
Snape stood behind his desk, arms at his sides, his dark eyes unreadable. “Dumbledore has informed me that you will be receiving additional instruction in Defense Against the Dark Arts,” he said smoothly. “I will be overseeing your lessons.”
Adela blinked. The words took a moment to settle, and when they did, she could hardly believe them. “Why?” she asked, too caught off guard to mask her skepticism.
Snape’s expression didn’t change. “That is not your concern.”
She narrowed her eyes. “If I’m going to be receiving the lessons, I believe it is precisely my concern”.
The corner of his mouth twitched, more irritation than amusement. “Your circumstances require... particular attention.”
“What circumstances?”
“It is the Headmaster’s belief that your connection to the Dark Lord must be closely monitored and your protection ensured.”
“Why not Potter?”
“Again, not your concern, Miss Benson.”
She stared at him with narrowed eyes, but figured she wasn’t going to get much more out of him.
“You may go”, he said after a moment’s silence, and with that, he turned around and stalked off towards his ingredient cabinet.
She stared at his broad back for a few seconds before she turned away and strode out of the classroom.
She couldn’t suppress her thoughts as she walked. Private lessons? Connection to Voldemort? The only connection between them was that they had lived at the same orphanage, but not even at the same time. It made no sense to give her private lessons just because of that. She was sure Harry needed them more than her, he was the one directly fighting him, after all.
She turned a corner as the realization of what this meant dawned on her, and she didn’t like it.
More time with him. More time for her treacherous mind to wander where it shouldn’t.
She bit the inside of her cheek as she thought of how just an hour ago, she had been determined to stay away from him as much as she could.
Great. Just what I wanted.