Anne stared groggily at the white ceiling. Where was this?
She propped herself up, the world around her a blur. The dim lighting in the room revealed a hazy whiteness, white walls, white bedsheets. Unsteadily, she slid off the bed, gripping the iron bedframe for support so she wouldn't fall. Glancing around, she noticed a single exit: a white-painted wooden door, with a small pane of clear glass inlaid at the top. Behind it, two shadowy figures stood, their voices faint but oddly familiar.
She frowned. That voice… it sounded so familiar. Was it someone she knew?
Dragging her weakened legs, Anne leaned against the tiled wall and inched slowly toward the door.
What were they saying?
As she drew closer, the words became clearer, a man's voice and a woman's voice tinged with sobs.
"How can you be so heartless… Anne, she…" the woman choked, her voice breaking.
The man didn't raise his voice, but there was a sharp edge of irritation in his tone.
"Do you think I want to give up on Anne? But how much have we already poured into this? How long are we supposed to keep going?"
"But—" The woman's cries grew louder.
"Crying, that's all you do… We don't just have Anne, we have Leo too! Are we supposed to throw our entire savings into a bottomless pit?"
"We still have the apartment… , maybe we could sell, "
"No!" The man's voice grew harsh, biting. "That apartment's for Leo, for when he goes to university. Do you know how much real estate prices are rising? Once it's sold, it's gone!"
Through the frosted glass, Anne saw one shadow lift an arm and strike the other twice.
"How can you say something like that?" the woman shouted, her voice furious.
The other figure didn't retaliate. He let out a long sigh and said, exhausted,
"Look, Anne's illness isn't going to get better. I'm just being honest. But Jing, he still has his whole life ahead of him. Are we really going to waste everything on Anne? Think about Jing. He's been calling for his mom for weeks…"
One of the figures raised a hand, as if covering their mouth. The woman's sobs shifted into muffled whimpers.
"The doctor said the surgery in two days has a low success rate. I'll try to scrape together what we need and pay tomorrow… If… if Anne doesn't make it, then… let's just consider it our final…"
The shadow with the hand over its mouth turned and ran off without saying another word.
"Haah…" The man sighed, seemingly lighting a cigarette. A few blurred smoke trails floated above his silhouette. Then he turned toward the door. His voice was quiet, heavy.
"Anne… don't blame us. These last few months have been hell. We have to think about the future too… If you want to blame someone… then blame your bad luck."
With that, he turned and walked away.
Anne slumped against the cold wall beside the door. It felt like every organ in her body had lost all warmth.
Were they… talking about her?
No. No, that couldn't be… right?
She laughed hollowly. No, of course not.
Her dad used to carry her on his shoulders when she was little, pretending to be a bull. That winter when she fell into the freezing river chasing fish, he wrapped her in his coat and sweater, sprinting home through the snow…
When she turned eight, he spent a month's wages on a toy she wanted, smiling as he said, "Anne, if you asked for the moon, I'd pluck it down just for you."
She remembered winning the city-wide piano competition in middle school, and her parents' proud words: "Anne, we'll always be proud of you."
So who were those people?
Who was that other shadow?
Why didn't she fight back?
That couldn't be her mom…
Her mom had always adored her. When she broke the neighbor's prized pickle jar during a roughhousing match, she didn't scold her, just hugged her tight while Anne wailed from her scraped knee.
And when Anne lost patience during piano practice, her mom would coax her with treats:
"Anne, just one more song and you can have this snack, it's delicious!"
So who was that outside the door?
Anne pressed a trembling hand over her mouth and slowly slid down the wall.
…sob sob… I'm scared… I'm so scared… Mom… Dad… I'm really scared…
Suddenly, the scene shifted. A blinding white light pierced through even her shut eyes. When she opened them, a shadowless surgical lamp was glaring directly at her. The brightness stung. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
She lay on a cold metal operating table. She tried to sit up, but her limbs wouldn't move. She could only lift her head slightly. Her blurry vision caught the outline of a dark figure slowly approaching.
Closer… and closer…
A floating black robe… and a large scythe.
No… no, no, no…
Panic spread like wildfire. Anne struggled desperately, but her body felt paralyzed. The figure drew closer, a pale skull emerging beneath the robe.
Terror consumed every inch of her.
She tried to scream.
"Enough! Go away! Don't come near me, stay away!"
The black-robed figure responded. Its skeletal jaw began to move. A sharp, grating voice like nails on a chalkboard came from beneath the hood.
"Sssshhh… don't struggle… no one wants you alive… why not just die…"
Anne shook her head violently, trying to drown out the voice with her own screams, but each syllable echoed crisply in her ears, like they were wired straight into her mind.
"Fear… despair… suffering… mmm… such delicious emotions…"
With every word, Anne trembled harder. But her body still wouldn't obey her. She forced her head up and slammed it against the operating table, shrieking with every ounce of strength she had.
"Go away! Leave me alone! Don't come near me, don't say another word!"
The black figure was only a step away now.
Its voice turned jagged, like a chair leg screeching across tile.
"Why live… when no one wants you alive…"
The scythe lifted, and swung down.
Aaaaaaaaah!
In the Slytherin dormitory, Anne shot up in bed, soaked in sweat and gasping for breath. Tears streamed down her face.
Despite the blazing fire in the common room hearth, she felt ice-cold. Disoriented, surrounded by darkness behind the bed curtains, the scenes from her nightmare played vividly in her mind. That voice, it still echoed.
Her trembling hand reached for the curtain, pulling it open. Warm morning light filtered in through the crystal in the ceiling.
She exhaled shakily.
Sitting on the edge of her bed, she stared blankly for a while. Finally, she checked her watch, 7:10. The others were still asleep. Even Fanny, the earliest riser, wouldn't be up for another thirty minutes.
Anne covered her face with her hands, taking a moment to compose herself. She muttered quietly in English, encouraging herself. Once the voice of the shadow had faded from her mind, she stood, gazing for a while at the soft light spilling from the ceiling.
Then she headed to the washroom.
After washing up, Anne carried a thick copy of Medieval Magic, Volume II into the Slytherin common room and began reading quietly.
At 7:37, Fanny stirred awake, thanks to a long-standing habit of early rising. She opened her bed curtain and was surprised to find Anne gone. Sitting up with a jolt, she dashed to the washroom, empty.
Wearing pajamas and slippers, she rushed to the common room and finally saw Anne reading by the fireplace. She let out a breath of relief.
Anne looked up at the sound, closed her book, and stood up, her face as calm as if nothing had happened.
Fanny, still panting, stammered, "Anne, you're… up so early today?"
Anne hugged the book to her chest and walked toward her, voice even. "I had a nightmare. It woke me."
Fanny hesitated for a second, then swallowed her next words. She forced a smile. "Then it was just a dream. And now that you're awake, it's over."
"Mm." Anne nodded. "Let's go back to the dorm."
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That morning in Potions, Professor Snape was clearly still fuming over Neville's Boggart incident. He nitpicked the Gryffindor students all class long. But Harry, Ron, and Hermione had prepared after Anne's warning, behaving perfectly and avoiding any deductions. Neville, despite Hermione's help the night before, still managed to lose Gryffindor ten points.
After class, Snape asked Anne to stay behind. Fanny tried to remain too, but Snape politely dismissed her. Hermione considered staying, but Ron and Harry tugged her away.
"Reeve," Snape said, standing stiffly, eyes sharp as ever. "I heard about what happened yesterday in Defense Against the Dark Arts. It was… unfortunate. Professor Dumbledore has asked me to check on you. Do you need assistance?"
Anne lowered her gaze, avoiding his piercing stare. Her voice was calm. "You know my past hasn't been… peaceful, Professor. If I were to ask for help, I'd request your signature on a permission slip. I'd like to visit Madam Pomfrey for something to help me sleep."
Snape studied her a moment longer, then, seeing no trace of deceit, dropped his probing look. He pulled out a sheet of parchment and scribbled out the note before handing it to her.
Anne took it, folded it neatly into her bag, and stood. "Thank you for your help, Head of House."
Snape glanced at the Slytherin badge on her robes and said curtly, "You may go."
Anne nodded, stepped back respectfully, and turned to leave.
Outside the classroom, the others immediately swarmed her.
"What did he say?"
"Did Snape give you trouble?"
"I thought he was only nice to his own house!"
"He was just checking in because Professor Dumbledore asked him to," Anne replied.
Everyone relaxed a bit.
Ron muttered, "Knew it. He really does only care about Slytherin."
Fanny gave him a warning look.
Hermione asked gently, "Anne, did you accept the help?"
"I did."
Fanny and Hermione exchanged glances. Earlier, Fanny had told Hermione about Anne's nightmare. Hearing that Anne had accepted help reassured them.
"Then let's go eat," Fanny said.
Anne nodded. As they walked, Ron and Harry chatted about the upcoming Quidditch matches, Gryffindor hadn't won the Cup in two years, and this season they were determined. Fanny and Hermione chatted about their mimosa plants. Despite Anne's handwritten care guides, growing tropical plants in the UK had its complications. They occasionally asked Anne for advice, and she always gave simple, effective responses.
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A/N: Sigh… a bunch of worthless parents…
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