The Halls at Night
The air in the chapel was heavy with the scent of old wood and melted wax. It was rare for Harry to wander these halls at night—he had learned early on that there were some things best left undisturbed after dark.
But tonight, something pushed him forward. Maybe it was restlessness. Maybe it was the quiet feeling of defiance that had begun to creep into him over the summer. Or maybe it was just the fact that, after everything, after her, there was little left to fear.
His footsteps were soft against the stone as he moved through the corridors. The dim glow of candlelight flickered against the high ceilings, shadows stretching and twisting with every movement.
At first, everything seemed normal. The chapel was quiet, still. The only sounds were the occasional creak of old wood and the distant hush of the wind through the stained-glass windows.
Then he saw her.
A shadow standing just beyond the reach of the candlelight, at the far end of the hall.
The Nun.
She did not move. Did not step forward.
Just watched.
Harry swallowed but forced himself to keep walking. He didn’t acknowledge her. He wasn’t sure if that was courage or stubbornness, but he kept moving.
Down another hallway. Up a flight of stairs. The silence pressed against his ears, thick and oppressive.
And then—there she was again.
Closer this time.
Still unmoving. Still watching.
Harry’s breath came slower now, but he kept his pace even. He turned the corner, refusing to glance back.
Another corridor. Another shift in the flickering light.
And then—again.
A glimpse of black robes, a veil shifting ever so slightly. No sound. No movement. But she was always there.
Stalking him.
Harry’s fingers brushed over the raven charm at his neck, gripping it as he stepped through the final archway that led back toward his room.
For a moment, he hesitated, glancing once more into the shadows.
The corridor was empty.
She was gone.
But the feeling of being watched never left him.