Nothing I Can Think Of

“I disagree with your position in many ways, Dottore, and I certainly don’t want to kill innocent people, just as I don’t want to become a god. My only goal is my brother. And if you truly can help me bring him back and make him explain everything, then I will join you. After all, who am I to argue with a god, right?”

She smiled slyly and set her weapon aside.

Suddenly, the air trembled, and a wave of Anemo attacks crashed down upon Dottore. Lumine knew those daring strikes all too well — she had dodged them herself far too many times. Realizing that they had decided to save her after all, she felt a strange mix of joy and disappointment.

“Why now, of all times!” She had almost convinced him that she was ready to cooperate. She had her own plan, one she had carefully devised while trapped within her own mind, and the interference of her dear friends had never been part of it. Now they’d certainly think of her as a villain and a traitor! Having to rebuild her own reputation all over again would be pure torment!

Unexpectedly nimble hands grabbed her, carrying her away. With a sigh, she decided to continue her double-agent game. Reluctantly, she pushed him away and returned to Dottore. Stomping her foot, she summoned Geo crystals, making sure he would understand her correctly.

“I don’t need a rescue.”

“Lumine…”

Lumine would remember that hollow, betrayed look forever. But what choice did she have? By staying on his side, she could uncover information that interested her. Pressing a finger to her lips, she hoped he would understand.

Harry as the sleeping beauty🥺

Myrtle wandered aimlessly through the corridors, as if she herself didn’t know where she was going. Harry followed her for a while, watching her shoulders tremble with suppressed sobs, but soon he realized where she was headed.

Harry stopped in front of the door to the girls’ bathroom, deciding not to interfere. She just needed time to calm down. He would wait, hand her the notebook, say something reassuring, and leave.

A few minutes passed.

Then ten.

Fifteen.

With each passing minute, his worry grew. Not a single sound came from inside. He raised his hand, about to knock gently on the door, but suddenly hesitated, gripping his cloak a little tighter.

The door creaked open.

But it wasn’t Myrtle.

The Slytherin prefect—Tom Marvolo Riddle—stepped out of the girls’ bathroom. Without a single unnecessary movement, he quietly pulled the door closed behind him, straightened up, and walked away.

As if nothing had happened.