A Haunting Dream

The moon cast a silvery glow through her window, painting the room in shadows that danced across the walls. Lennon felt a shiver run down her spine. She knew she wouldn't be able to sleep, not with the weight of their conversation pressing down on her. But she had to at least try.

With a sigh, she changed into her nightgown and climbed into bed. The sheets felt cold against her skin, and she pulled the blankets up to her chin. Her mind raced with thoughts of Harry, Mattheo, and the cryptic words he had spoken. Was there a way to save Harry, or was it all just a desperate hope that would lead her astray?

As she lay there, staring at the ceiling, she heard the soft whispers of the night. The wind outside her window sang a mournful tune, carrying with it the scent of rain-soaked earth. Lennon knew she needed to rest, but her thoughts kept her wakeful. Her eyes searched the darkness for answers that weren't there.

The room grew colder, and she burrowed deeper into her blankets, pulling them up to her nose. The fabric smelled faintly of lavender, a comforting scent that usually lulled her to sleep. But tonight, it was the scent of fear and uncertainty that filled her nostrils. Her heart thudded in her chest, echoing through the quiet like a drum in a deserted battlefield.

Lennon is unable to sleep due to a disturbing conversation about Harry. The moonlit room feels cold and eerie, and her mind is preoccupied with fear and doubt. The scent of lavender fails to comfort her as she ponders over the cryptic words spoken by Mattheo, and the room's temperature drops, mirroring her anxiety.

Lennon, haunted by a disturbing conversation with Harry, lies in bed in her moonlit room. Despite her efforts to find comfort in the familiar scent of lavender on her blankets, fear and doubt about saving Harry keep her awake.

Her thoughts swirled around Mattheo's words, each one a puzzle piece she desperately needed to fit together. Was Harry in danger? And if so, from whom? The shadows grew longer, twisting and turning with her thoughts, reaching out like ghostly fingers to pluck at her fears.

The digital clock on her nightstand clicked over to 2 AM, its glowing blue numbers taunting her with the passage of time. Each second felt like an eternity, and Lennon's eyelids grew heavier with each tick. Yet, sleep remained elusive, a mirage just beyond her grasp.

With a resigned sigh, she rolled onto her side, curling into a tight ball. She closed her eyes, willing herself to drift into the oblivion of slumber. Her mind, however, had other plans. It replayed the conversation with Mattheo on a loop, his urgent whispers haunting her thoughts.

As the minutes dragged on, the room grew colder still. The whispers of the night grew louder, morphing into a cacophony that seemed to be speaking directly to her. It was as if the shadows themselves were sharing a secret, one that she could almost, but not quite, understand. She pulled the blankets tighter, the fabric now a shield against the invisible tormentors.

Despite her exhaustion, Lennon remains wakeful in her cold moonlit room, plagued by fear and doubt about Harry's situation. The conversation with Mattheo replays in her mind, hinting at danger and mystery. The shadows seem alive, whispering secrets she struggles to grasp, while the room's chill reflects her anxiety.

Despite the late hour, sleep eludes Lennon as she obsesses over her conversation with Mattheo. The room's chill seems to mirror her anxiety, and the shadows whisper secrets she can't quite decipher, keeping her trapped in a cycle of fear and doubt.

Her breaths grew shallow and uneven, her heartbeat matching the tempo of the whispers. She felt a strange energy build in her chest, a pressure that grew with every beat. The room spun around her, the walls seeming to breathe in and out like living things. The air grew thick and heavy, and she found it increasingly difficult to draw breath.

And then, without warning, the whispers stopped. The room stilled. Lennon felt a sudden lightness, as if she were floating above her bed. She allowed her eyes to drift shut, giving in to the siren call of sleep. As the darkness swallowed her, she felt a gentle tug at her consciousness, pulling her into a world of dreams.

In the ethereal realm of her subconscious, she found herself standing in a lush, moonlit forest. The trees loomed tall and ancient, their branches entwined like lovers in an eternal dance. Through the leaves, she glimpsed the flicker of distant lights, beckoning her closer. The air was thick with the scent of pine and the distant sound of running water.

Lennon's anxiety reaches a peak in her moonlit room, with a palpable energy building until the whispers cease. She succumbs to sleep and enters a vivid dream where she's in a mystical forest, drawn to distant lights among ancient trees, with the scent of pine and the sound of flowing water nearby.

Mattheo and Oliver materialized before her, their forms shimmering like mirages in the moonlight. They approached, their expressions a blend of concern and determination. She could see the worry etched on Mattheo's features, his eyes searching hers for understanding. Oliver, on the other hand, bore an expression that was harder to read, his eyes a storm of shadows and secrets.

Overwhelmed by the whispers and the room's oppressive atmosphere, Lennon succumbs to sleep. In her dream, she finds herself in a moonlit forest with Mattheo and Oliver, who exude tension and conceal secrets in their expressions.

"Lennon," Mattheo began, his voice soothing yet urgent. "You must listen to me. Harry is in grave danger. The whispers you heard are the echoes of a powerful curse."

Oliver nodded gravely, his eyes never leaving hers. "The forest is a reflection of your fears, Lennon. The lights you see are the path to understanding. Follow them, and you will find the answers you seek."

The two men turned and began to walk away, their forms fading into the moonlit foliage. Lennon's feet seemed to move of their own accord, following the ghosts of them through the forest. The path grew steeper, the trees denser, and the whispers grew fainter until they were nothing more than a distant memory.

In her dream, Lennon meets with Mattheo and Oliver in a moonlit forest, who confirm Harry is in peril due to a powerful curse. The whispers are manifestations of her fears, and the distant lights represent the path to answers. Guided by them, she walks deeper into the dense woods, leaving the whispers behind.

Lennon's anxiety over Harry keeps her awake in a cold, moonlit room, the conversation with Mattheo echoing ominously. The room's chill reflects her fear, and whispers hint at the gravity of the situation. She enters a dream where she meets Mattheo and Oliver in a mystical forest, learning of a powerful curse on Harry. They guide her through the woods with distant lights as her fear manifests around her.

The lights grew brighter, pulsing with an eerie rhythm that matched the beating of her heart. Each step brought her closer to the truth she so desperately sought, yet the forest felt alive with a tension that made her skin crawl. Twice she stumbled, her bare feet catching on hidden roots and rocks, but she pressed on, driven by an unseen force.

Then, without warning, the serenity of the moonlit forest shattered. The gentle whispers of the night turned into screams, piercing and discordant, filling her ears with a symphony of terror. The ground beneath her trembled, and the trees contorted, their branches reaching for her like the arms of the damned. Lennon's heart raced, her breaths coming in ragged gasps.

Her eyes snapped open, the forest retreating into the recesses of her mind like a tide receding from the shore. The room was bathed in darkness, the whispers replaced by the thunderous pounding of her own pulse in her ears. She sat bolt upright in bed, the blankets tangled around her like a cocoon of fear.

The scream that tore from her throat was raw and primal, the kind that shakes the soul. Her breaths were quick and sharp, her chest rising and falling like bellows feeding an unseen fire. The digital clock now read 3 AM, its blue glow pulsing like a beacon in the inky blackness.

Alicia, Katie, and Angelina bolted upright in their beds, their eyes wide with terror. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the symphony of their panicked gasps.

Lennon's dream intensifies as the forest's serenity morphs into horror, with piercing screams and a trembling earth. She awakens to find the room dark, her heart racing, and her friends startled by her primal scream, which echoed through the night.

"Lennon, are you okay?" Alicia called out, her voice shaking.

Katie and Angelina stumbled out of their beds, their eyes wide with concern. They rushed to Lennon's side, the warmth of their bodies a stark contrast to the cold that had seeped into her bones.

"What's wrong?" Katie whispered, placing a gentle hand on Lennon's shoulder.

But before Lennon could answer, the door swung open, and Professor McGonagall strode in, her robes billowing behind her like a storm cloud. Her expression was a thunderous blend of anger and worry.

"What is the meaning of this racket in the dead of night?" she demanded, her eyes scanning the room. "Young ladies, this is a school, not a playground for midnight escapades!"

Her gaze settled on Lennon, who was trembling uncontrollably, her nightgown clutched tightly to her chest. The color had drained from her face, leaving her skin a ghastly pale.

"It was a nightmare," Lennon managed to croak out, her voice trembling as much as her body. "The worst one I've ever had."

Professor McGonagall's expression softened, the anger in her eyes replaced by understanding. She strode over to the bed and placed a comforting hand on Lennon's forehead. "You're burning up, Miss McCauley," she said with concern. "This is not a simple case of bad dreams."

Her friends hovered around her, their own fears reflected in their eyes. "What was it about?" Angelina asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lennon's friends, Alicia, Katie, and Angelina, rush to comfort her after her scream wakes them up. Professor McGonagall enters, initially angry but then concerned upon seeing Lennon's condition. Lennon explains it was a terrible nightmare, and the professor identifies a fever, suggesting it's not just a typical bad dream.

Lennon took a shuddering breath and recounted her dream, the vivid images replaying in her mind. The moonlit forest, the whispers, the sense of dread, and the curse. Her voice grew stronger with every word, the nightmare's grip slowly loosening. Professor McGonagall listened intently, her expression shifting from concern to something more serious, something that spoke of hidden knowledge.

"The whispers of a curse are not to be taken lightly," she said gravely. "This is not the first time I've heard of such things in this school. Rest now, Miss McCauley. I shall look into this matter immediately."

Her friends exchanged glances, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily upon them. Alicia offered her a comforting smile, while Katie and Angelina hovered, unsure of what to do next. Professor McGonagall nodded to the three of them, urging them to return to their beds.

"You all should get some rest," she said firmly, though her eyes remained on Lennon. "Miss McCauley, I need you to remain calm. This is not a time for hysterics."

The three friends retreated to their beds, casting worried looks over their shoulders. Lennon lay back down, the mattress sinking slightly under her weight. The room felt colder than before, the air charged with an energy she couldn't quite explain. Professor McGonagall pulled her wand from the pocket of her robes and began to murmur incantations, casting a soft, warm light around the room that seemed to chase away the shadows.

Professor McGonagall, alerted by Lennon's scream, listens to her recount of the nightmare and takes it seriously, hinting at previous occurrences of curses in the school. She instructs the girls to rest while she investigates, leaving a comforting warmth in the room with a protective charm.

Her eyes searched the space, looking for any sign of the malevolent force that had invaded Lennon's dreams. The whispers grew fainter until they were nothing but a memory. The professor turned to Lennon, her expression one of contemplation.

"Rest now," she said with a firm but gentle tone. "I will not let harm come to any of my students."

Her friends obeyed, their movements stiff with fear, sliding back under their covers as Professor McGonagall continued to cast spells around the room. The incantations grew softer until they were nothing more than a lullaby, the warm light from her wand flickering like a candle flame, creating a comforting aura that began to soothe Lennon's racing heart.

The whispers grew distant, swallowed by the gentle sounds of the night, and the shadows retreated to the corners of the room. The professor turned to her, her eyes piercing through the dim light.

"Miss McCauley, I suspect your dream was more than just a night terror. It seems the whispers have chosen you as their vessel, a conduit for their message. You must be brave and strong. We shall uncover the truth together."

The words hung in the air, thick with the promise of an unspoken adventure. Lennon felt a strange mix of terror and determination swelling within her. Her heart had yet to settle from its frantic pace, and she knew that sleep would not come easily now. But she nodded, her jaw set with resolve.

Professor McGonagall suspects Lennon's dream is not a mere nightmare but a warning and assures her protection. She casts spells to calm the room, suggesting Lennon is chosen as a vessel for the whispers. Despite the fear, Lennon feels a sense of resolve to face the impending adventure with the professor.

Professor McGonagall turned to leave, the light from her wand trailing behind her like a glowing tail. "Rest now," she instructed one last time before exiting the room, the door clicking shut with a finality that sent another shiver down Lennon's spine.

Lennon lay in bed, her eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. Her friends had retreated into their own bunks, their whispers of concern fading into the background. The room felt oppressive, as if the walls were closing in. Her heart thudded in her chest like a trapped bird trying to escape, echoing the urgency of the whispers from her dream.

Eventually, the warmth of the blankets and the gentle hum of Professor McGonagall's protective spells lulled her into a fitful doze. Her eyes grew heavy, and the shadows of the room began to blend together into a comforting tapestry of darkness. The whispers grew faint, and her thoughts grew fuzzy at the edges.

In the depths of slumber, the forest returned. The lights grew dimmer, the path less defined. The whispers grew stronger, guiding her through the underbrush and over the roots that snaked across her path like serpents. Her heartbeat matched the rhythm of the whispers, a pulse that grew louder and more insistent with each step.

The chamber emerged from the darkness like a beacon. It was small, the walls lined with ancient texts and artifacts that hummed with power. Harry stood in the center, his reflection distorted in the surface of the mirror. His eyes searched hers, filled with a desperation she had never seen before. The unseen professor's voice grew clearer, the incantations urgent.

Lennon's heart pounded in her chest as she realized the voice belonged to Professor Quirrell. His eyes darted around the room, as if he was searching for something, or perhaps someone. Her mind raced with questions, but she knew that she had to remain silent. The very air felt charged with danger, and she didn't dare break the spell.

The whispers grew louder, a cacophony of voices that spoke of dark magic and ancient curses. They seemed to be coming from the very fabric of the chamber itself, echoing off the dusty tomes and artifacts that surrounded her. Lennon watched as Harry's reflection grew more and more frantic, his eyes pleading with hers for help.

But she was powerless, a mere observer in this twisted tableau. Her body felt weightless, her voice silenced by the dream world's unyielding grip. The only thing she could do was watch as Professor Quirrell approached the mirror, his eyes alight with a greed that chilled her to the bone.

The whispers grew to a fever pitch, the pressure in her chest threatening to break her ribs. Suddenly, she was jolted awake by the shrill screech of an owl. The room was bathed in the soft light of dawn, the shadows of her nightmare retreating to the corners of her room. Lennon sat up with a gasp, the sweat cooling on her skin like a damp shroud. Her heart raced, the echoes of the whispers still ringing in her ears.

Her friends stirred in their beds, their eyes blinking open sleepily. "Lennon?" Alicia murmured, her voice thick with concern. "You okay?"

Lennon nodded, though she felt anything but. "Just a bad dream," she lied, her voice shaky. She didn't dare share the truth, not yet. The whispers still haunted her, their message a siren's call that she couldn't ignore.

Her friends exchanged worried glances, but said nothing more, sensing her need for solitude. They curled back into their beds, their breathing evening out as they drifted back into sleep. Lennon, however, remained wide awake, her thoughts racing. What had she seen in her dream? Was Harry truly in danger, or was it all just a figment of her overactive imagination?

The whispers from the night echoed in her mind, a constant reminder of the unsettling revelation. She knew she had to tell someone, but who could she trust? Professor Dumbledore, perhaps? He had always been a beacon of wisdom in the face of darkness. With a deep breath, she slid out of bed, her bare feet padding softly on the cold floorboards.

The light from the window grew stronger, the sun's warm embrace chasing away the last vestiges of the night's terror. Lennon crept to her desk, her trembling hand reaching for a piece of parchment and a quill. She scribbled down her thoughts, her handwriting barely legible from the tremors that coursed through her. The words spilled out, a jumbled mess of fear and urgency.

With trembling fingers, she folded the parchment into a tight square, the whispers from her dream still echoing in her mind. She knew she couldn't keep this secret to herself, not if Harry's life was truly at stake. Carefully, she penned a single word on the outside: "Mattheo." It was a name that now carried the weight of hope and desperation.

As her friends stirred in the early light of dawn, Lennon waited for the perfect moment. When the coast was clear, she slipped the message under her pillow, her heart racing. She couldn't risk anyone else reading it, not until she had a chance to speak with Mattheo in private.

The morning passed in a blur of classes and forced smiles. Lennon's mind was elsewhere, trapped in the claustrophobic embrace of her dream. The whispers lingered, a constant reminder of the urgency of her situation. Her stomach churned with dread as she awaited the final bell, her eyes scanning the corridors for any sign of Harry or Professor Quirrell.

When the bell finally rang, she bolted from the classroom, her friends' worried calls echoing down the hallway. She didn't stop until she reached the quiet solitude of the library. The dusty tomes and hushed whispers of the pages offered a semblance of comfort, a stark contrast to the chaos in her thoughts.

Mattheo was easy to find, his dark hair a stark contrast against the rows of ancient books. He looked up as she approached, his eyes immediately reading the fear etched on her face.

"What is it, Lennon?" he whispered, his voice a low rumble that seemed to carry the weight of the world.

Her hand trembled as she reached into her pocket and pulled out the folded parchment. "I had a dream," she began, her voice barely above a whisper. "I think Harry's in trouble."

Mattheo's expression grew serious, his eyes locking onto hers with a fierce intensity. He took the note, his gaze flicking over the scribbled words before looking back at her. "A dream?" he repeated. "What did you see?"

Lennon took a deep breath, her eyes never leaving his. "I saw you and Oliver in the moonlit forest," she began, her voice quivering with the memory of the nightmare. "You told me Harry is in danger, that the whispers are the echoes of a powerful curse."

Mattheo's eyes widened, his grip on the parchment tightening. "And Professor Quirrell?" he prompted, his voice tight.

"Yes," Lennon nodded, her throat dry with fear. "He was there, in the room with Harry. His eyes... they were terrifying." She swallowed hard, trying to push the image of the twisted reflection from her mind. "He was searching for something, whispering incantations. It felt like he was going to do something terrible."

Mattheo's jaw clenched as he processed her words, the gravity of the situation settling heavily upon him. "The Mirror of Erised," he murmured, his voice a low growl. "It's not something to be trifled with. The whispers you heard, they're likely the echoes of dark magic."

Lennon nodded, her eyes wide with fear. "What do we do?" she whispered urgently. "We can't just ignore this."

Mattheo's expression grew grim. "You're right," he said, his eyes searching hers. "The Mirror of Erised is a dangerous object, capable of showing one's deepest desires. If Professor Quirrell is using it for dark purposes, we must act quickly."

He folded the parchment and tucked it into his own pocket, his mind racing with thoughts of what could be happening. "We need to warn Professor Dumbledore," he decided, standing up abruptly. "This is no trifle, Lennon. This could mean the fate of our world hangs in the balance."

The gravity of his words sent a cold shiver down Lennon's spine. She had hoped, deep down, that it was just a particularly vivid nightmare, a trick of her overactive imagination. But the conviction in Mattheo's eyes told her it was all too real.

"Professor Dumbledore," she murmured, her heart racing. "But how do we even begin to explain this to him?"

Mattheo's hand found hers, squeezing gently. "We'll find a way," he assured her, his eyes never leaving hers. "We can't ignore the whispers."

Together, they made their way through the sprawling corridors of Hogwarts, their footsteps echoing off the stone walls like the ticking of a doomsday clock.

The other students couldn't help but cast curious glances their way. Gryffindor and Slytherin unity was rare, and whispers of their unusual alliance spread like wildfire. They huddled together in groups, their voices hushed and urgent as they speculated on what could be so important that it would bring Lennon and Mattheo to share secrets. The whispers grew louder as they approached the grand staircase, a symphony of curiosity and suspicion that seemed to follow them like a shadow.

But their mission was too urgent to be deterred by the prying eyes of their peers. They moved swiftly, their footsteps echoing off the ancient stones like the steady beat of a drum that called them forward. The air grew thick with anticipation, each step bringing them closer to the revelation that could change everything.

Finally, they reached the gargoyle guarding the headmaster's office. "Sherbert lemon," Lennon murmured, the password she had learned from her time in the Gryffindor Tower. The statue sprang to life, revealing the hidden staircase that spiralled upwards. Together, they climbed, the whispers of their shared concern mingling with the distant sounds of the waking castle.

As they approached Dumbledore's door, it swung open, as if the headmaster had been expecting them. His office was a warm, welcoming contrast to the cold, draughty corridors. The scent of candles and aged parchment filled the air, and Fawkes, the majestic phoenix, cooed softly from his perch.

Dumbledore looked at them over his half-moon spectacles, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Ah, Miss McCauley and Mr. Riddle," he said, his voice like a warm embrace. "What brings you to me at this early hour?"

Lennon's heart hammered in her chest as she stepped into the office, the whispers from her dream feeling more real than ever. She took a deep breath and recounted her dream, her voice shaking with each word. Mattheo stood beside her, his hand firm on her shoulder, offering silent support.

Dumbledore listened intently, his eyes never leaving hers. His face remained calm, a serene mask that gave away none of his thoughts. When she finished, the room was silent for a moment, the only sound the crackling of the fire in the hearth. Then, with a gentle nod, he spoke.

"Your dream is most troubling, Lennon," he said, his voice measured and serious. "The Mirror of Erised is indeed a powerful and dangerous artifact. It is not something to be used lightly, nor should it fall into the wrong hands."

Mattheo's grip on her shoulder tightened. "What do we do, Professor?" he asked urgently.

Dumbledore steepled his fingers, his gaze thoughtful. "First, we must verify your claims," he said. "While dreams can sometimes reveal the truth, they are not always to be trusted. However, the gravity of your concern is not to be dismissed." He looked at them both, his eyes piercing with wisdom. "Tell me, do you have any idea why the whispers would come to you?"

Lennon felt a knot form in her stomach. "No, sir," she replied, her voice small. "But I can't shake the feeling that Harry's in trouble."

Dumbledore nodded, his eyes filled with understanding. "Fear not, my dear. We shall investigate this matter with the utmost urgency." He turned to Mattheo. "Mr. Riddle, your knowledge of the mirror is most intriguing. Tell me more of what you know."

Mattheo took a deep breath. "The Mirror of Erised is said to show the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts," he began. "But it's a fickle thing, a trickster that can lead one down a dangerous path. Professor Quirrell's fascination with it is... concerning."

Dumbledore's eyes grew more intense as he listened. "Indeed, it is," he murmured. "The mirror is known to have a seductive power over those who seek to manipulate it for their own ends." He stood from his chair, the flames in the hearth casting flickering shadows across his face. "Miss McCauley, Mr. Riddle, I will need you both to be discreet. We do not wish to cause unnecessary alarm, but we must act swiftly."

They nodded in unison, the gravity of their situation settling heavily upon their shoulders. "We understand, Professor," Lennon said, her voice steady despite the tremble in her hands.

"Very well," said Dumbledore, his expression a mix of concern and determination. "Mr. Riddle, I would like you to gather any information you can on the mirror's whereabouts and its history here at Hogwarts. Miss McCauley, I need you to keep your eyes and ears open. If you hear or see anything unusual, report to me at once."

Mattheo nodded solemnly, his gaze flicking to the parchment in his hand. "Yes, Professor," he said, tucking it into his robes.

The two of them left the warmth of Dumbledore's office, stepping into the cold, draughty corridor. The whispers of the dream seemed to follow them, echoing off the stone walls like a haunting melody. They walked side by side in silence, the weight of their mission pressing down upon them.

As they approached the grand staircase, they split, heading for their respective Houses. Lennon couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had settled in her stomach. The Great Hall loomed before her, the long wooden tables and benches already filling with chattering students. She took a deep breath and plunged into the fray, her eyes searching the sea of faces for any sign of Harry.

Her heart leaped as she spotted him at the Gryffindor table, his green eyes scanning the room as if looking for something - or someone. She sat down next to him, her hands trembling slightly as she tried to appear normal. The whispers from her dream seemed to follow her, a constant reminder of the urgent mission that lay before them.

"Hey, Harry," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "You okay?"

He looked up at her, his expression a mix of surprise and relief. "Yeah," he said, forcing a smile. "Just couldn't sleep, you know?"

Lennon's heart sank at his lie, but she couldn't blame him. How could she expect him to confide in her when she was keeping secrets of her own? The Great Hall was abuzz with the usual morning banter, but the whispers of her dream still echoed in her mind, making it difficult to focus on the mundane conversations around her.

As they ate their breakfast, Lennon stole glances at Harry, trying to discern if he was truly okay or just putting on a brave face. The smell of eggs and bacon wafted through the air, mingling with the aroma of freshly brewed tea and toast. The comforting sounds of silverware clinking against plates and the hum of voices filled the hall, a stark contrast to the tension coiled inside her.

Suddenly, a flash of red and gold caught her eye. The twins, Fred and George, were up to their usual mischief, sneaking around the Slytherin table. The air grew thick with anticipation as the twins, known for their ingenious pranks, placed something peculiar in Goyle's and Crabbe's goblets of pumpkin juice. Lennon held her breath, watching the scene unfold as if in slow motion.

The great hall erupted in laughter as Goyle took a sip, his mouth immediately puffing up like a blowfish. His eyes bulged, and his cheeks grew rounder by the second. Crabbe, noticing his friend's distress, followed suit and soon found himself in the same predicament. The twins retreated to the Gryffindor table, their snickers lost in the crescendo of laughter that rolled through the hall.

The tension at the Gryffindor table eased as the scene provided a much-needed distraction. Harry managed a genuine chuckle, the first since Lennon had sat down with him. His eyes sparkled with mischief, briefly pushing back the shadows of their secret.

"Classic," he murmured, shaking his head. "Those two never learn, do they?"

The twins' prank had indeed brought a moment of levity to the tension-filled table, but as the laughter died down and the hall returned to its usual morning buzz, Lennon's thoughts drifted back to the whispers and the urgency of their mission. She exchanged a look with Mattheo, who seemed to read her mind. His smile faded, and his eyes searched hers, a silent question hanging in the air.

They knew they had to tread carefully, to keep their investigation hidden from prying eyes. The whispers of the mirror grew louder in Lennon's mind, a siren's call that grew more insistent with each passing moment. She felt a sudden chill run down her spine, and she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched.

The day dragged on, the whispers of the dream never truly leaving her thoughts. In every class, her mind wandered to the mirror and the curse that threatened Harry. She tried to focus on her lessons, but the words of the teachers blurred together like the ink in an unfinished potion.

During breaks, Lennon and Mattheo would exchange furtive glances across the hallways, their silent communication speaking volumes about their shared concern. They knew they had to find a way to warn Harry without alerting anyone else to their suspicions.