Something about this dream was not right. It wasn’t the way that each concept blurred into the next or how every thought seemed frayed at the edges, never complete. That was common for Zel. All of her dreams had always been unclear in their meanings, but she’d never bothered herself with putting forth the effort of deciphering them. This one was different. It couldn’t go ignored despite how aptly she wished it could.
Although the images weren’t constantly defined, it was always impossible to mistake those vibrant blue eyes for belonging to anybody other than Henry March. Even as she saw him now, she was unable to quell the pang she felt in her chest that arose whenever she missed him for too long. It was as if they were still separated as they had been for over two years. Then the twinge of longing evaporated instantly as he reached out. Even though he had to have been at least fifteen feet away from her, Henry’s calloused hand suddenly curled warmly around Zel’s. Their eyes locked knowingly, the lighter tones in his array of blue flashing just as dangerously as they always had before, and although no words were exchanged aloud, Zel understood. Come with me. Immediately, she thought ‘Yes,’ and immediately she was horrified by her eager response.
The ominous green glow of the Slytherin Common Room changed abruptly. Now Zel rested with her back atop an intricately patterned quilt and gazed up to see a pair of electric eyes looming close to her face. Then they were gone, concealed by veined eyelids, and his lips were upon her. Henry’s kiss was oddly familiar to Zel, as was the rush of pleasure that surged throughout her body and caused her fair skin to flush. It didn’t take long for her to recognize the sensation as being identical to the one she’d felt whenever it had been Jeremiah’s lips on hers. There wasn’t enough time for her to be bothered by this realization, though, as she became distracted by Henry’s fingertips roaming her bare skin, trailing lower and lower.
As her head fell to the side, now cushioned by a thin pillow that hadn’t been there a moment ago, Zel noticed Jeremiah coincidentally lingering in a crumbled archway that stood in the distance. His stare never wavered from the pair lying on the comforter—not even when members of an uninterested bustling crowd passed between them. It was as if he were looking straight through them all, and maybe he was. But before Zel could call out to him or even react at all, his figure was completely obscured from her vision. Although seemingly apathetic and ignorant at first glance, the throng of passers-by were actually very interested—only not in her and Henry. They converged on Jeremiah like a swarm of angry bees, every last one of them. It was hopeless to strain her neck for a view of him, he was so lost among the different faces, but somehow Zel knew that he was in danger.
While she yearned to help him, though, Henry’s touch came closer and rougher, intense. In her head she screamed at herself to get away from him. Jeremiah needed her help, that much was apparent as his own screams resounded in her ears. But she didn’t go to him. And his screams eventually subsided. And so did hers.