Comprehension
Harry stood frozen in the middle of the common room, staring at the boy by the fireplace. His heart thudded painfully in his chest, each beat feeling too loud, too fast. There was something deeply unsettling about the way the boy moved, the way he laughed, and the way his hair, wild and messy, caught the flickering light of the fire.
Harry's eyes widened, his breath hitching in his throat. It wasn’t just that the boy looked like him. It was something more. A strange familiarity that twisted in his gut and sent a wave of cold panic rising in his chest.
He’s pretending to be me. The thought, absurd as it was, flashed through his mind with alarming clarity. No, that’s not right—he’s not pretending. But how... Why does he look like me?
The room felt like it was closing in on him. His vision narrowed, the chatter of students and the crackling of the fire muffled into a dull roar. His breath quickened as his thoughts raced. All summer I felt it—something was off, wrong. I shouldn’t have come back. I should’ve known this was going to happen.
The boy’s laugh cut through the fog in his head, sharp and familiar, like an echo of his own. Harry’s hands trembled at his sides, and he felt his chest tighten as he struggled to pull in air. Why does he look so much like me?
The boy turned slightly, his profile catching Harry’s eye again. No, not me. James. His father’s face stared back at him, the resemblance so striking it felt like a punch to the gut. He’s not me. He’s James. But… he can’t be.
Panic flared in Harry’s chest, his thoughts spiraling out of control. He felt like he was slipping—falling again, like he had when that light blinded them in the attic. His hands gripped the edges of his robes tightly, trying to ground himself, but the knot in his stomach only tightened. The room spun slightly, the faces around him blurring together as his breaths came in shallow gasps. What’s happening? What is this? He couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was wrong—so terribly wrong.
He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think.
But then, through the fog of his spiraling panic, he felt something—warmth. A weight on his shoulder.
“Oi, Harry,” came George’s voice, soft but steady, cutting through the storm in his mind. “You alright, mate?”
Harry blinked, the sound of George’s voice pulling him back, like a rope tethering him to reality. His head snapped up, and he found George looking at him with a concerned furrow in his brow, his hand firmly on Harry’s shoulder. Harry’s breaths were still fast, his heart still racing, but the noise in his head began to quiet down.
“Hey,” George said again, his voice low. “You’re looking a bit pale, there. What’s going on?”
Harry blinked again, his vision slowly clearing. The boy by the fireplace was still there, but the suffocating weight of panic began to ease just a little. His chest still felt tight, but George’s hand on his shoulder was an anchor, something real in the midst of all the confusion.
“I—” Harry started, his voice shaky. He didn’t even know what to say. His throat felt tight, and his mind still raced with too many thoughts, but the overwhelming wave of panic was receding.
George gave his shoulder a squeeze, sensing Harry’s distress. “It’s alright,” he said, his tone light but steady. “Whatever it is, we’ll sort it out. Just... breathe for a second, yeah?”
Harry took in a shaky breath, forcing himself to slow down, to breathe properly. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak just yet. His hands were still shaking slightly, but the tightness in his chest was starting to ease.
George kept his hand on Harry’s shoulder, giving him space without pushing. Fred, who had been oblivious to the situation, finally noticed the tension between them and shot George a confused look. But George just shook his head, signaling for him to leave it for now.
After a few more breaths, Harry finally found his voice again, though it was small. “I... don’t know what’s going on, George. Something’s... wrong.”
George’s expression softened. “We’ll figure it out, mate. Don’t worry. Just take it easy.”
Harry nodded again, but the uneasy feeling still lingered in the back of his mind. He glanced back at the boy by the fireplace, but this time, he averted his gaze quickly. The last thing he needed right now was to stare at that face again. The face that wasn’t his but somehow was.