The dining room at Potter Manor was lively, filled with laughter and the clinking of silverware. Sirius lounged in his chair, telling an animated story about James’s first Quidditch match while the others chuckled, their plates piled high with food. The glow of the chandelier illuminated the warmth of the room, and for a moment, it felt as if nothing in the world could touch them.
Pandora sat quietly, her plate barely touched. She stared at the polished surface of the table, her expression distant and unreadable. Dorcas sat beside her, carefully slicing a cake at the counter, her movements unhurried and precise.
The lively chatter faltered when Pandora suddenly went still, her fork slipping from her fingers with a soft clatter. Her gaze turned glassy, unfocused, and her lips parted as she began to speak in a low, hollow tone.
“Seven—six—eleven—five—nine—an’—twenty mile to—day—
Four—eleven—seventeen—thirty—seventeen the day before.”
Sirius, mid-sentence, froze. He looked over at Pandora, a frown tugging at his lips. “What’s she on about?” he muttered, his earlier joviality gone.
No one answered.
“Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin’ up and down again!
There’s no discharge in the war!”
Remus shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his brows furrowing as he glanced between Pandora and Dorcas. “Is this… normal?”
Dorcas didn’t respond. She seemed entranced by the cake in front of her, cutting into it with methodical precision. The slices formed jagged, cavern-like shapes.
Pandora’s voice grew louder, her words tumbling out faster, as if she were in a trance:
“Don’t—don’t—don’t—don’t—look at what’s in front of you.
Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin’ up an’ down again;
Inferi—inferi—inferi—inferi—inferi go mad with watchin’ young Black,
An’ there’s no discharge in the war!”
At the mention of “young Black,” Sirius’s face went pale. “What the bloody hell does that mean?” he demanded, his voice sharp. “What’s she talking about?”
Peter shifted nervously in his seat, avoiding Sirius’s gaze. “I—I don’t know. Maybe it’s nothing?”
“It’s not nothing,” James said firmly, his eyes narrowing as he focused on Pandora. “Dorcas.”
Dorcas continued slicing the cake, her knife trembling slightly. Her eyes were distant, her expression blank.
“Dorcas!” James’s voice rose, alarmed now.
Finally, she stopped cutting. Her hand fell to her side, and she whispered, “He wouldn’t do that. I would feel it.”
“Feel what?” Marlene asked, her voice soft but tinged with unease. She reached for Dorcas, her hand hovering near her shoulder. “Darling? What’s going on?”
Dorcas shook her head, her lips pressed tightly together.
Pandora’s voice broke through the tension, louder now, more frantic:
“Count—count—count—count—the bullets in the bandoliers.
If—your—eyes—drop—they will get atop o’ you!
Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin’ up and down again,
There’s no discharge in the war!”
“Pandora,” Lily said, standing cautiously and taking a step toward her. “Pandora, can you hear me? You’re safe. It’s okay.”
Pandora didn’t react. Her hands trembled on the table, and her voice cracked as she continued:
“Try—try—try—try—to think o’ something different—
Oh—my—God—keep—me from goin’ lunatic!
Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin’ up an’ down again! There’s no discharge in the war!”
The chandelier above them flickered, the warmth of the room replaced by an eerie chill.
“What is she talking about?” Sirius demanded, his voice shaking. He stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. “Someone explain what the hell is going on!”
James pushed his chair back and stood, his face pale but resolute. “I need to go,” he said, his voice tight. He glanced at Dorcas, his expression unreadable. “I’ll figure this out.”
“Sirius,” Remus said softly, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Let him go.”
Pandora’s voice faded into silence, and she blinked, her glossy eyes clearing. She looked around the room as if waking from a nightmare, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
No one spoke. The silence pressed down on them, heavy and suffocating.
James turned on his heel and walked toward the door without another word. As it closed behind him, the only sound in the room was Pandora’s ragged breathing.