The nightmares had never really left, Sloane had just stopped telling anyone about them. There wasn’t exactly anything she or those around her could really do about it. Most of the time she could breathe through it, could shake herself from the wisps of cold and suffocation long enough to pull out of the fear.

Tonight was different though, she was caught, stuck in the paralyzing fear that she was slipping under again. It felt so juvenile to sneak down the hall to her mother’s room and seek solace there. She was eighteen, an adult. Her brothers wouldn’t understand, they (well maybe not Harry) were all haunted by their own demons.

Sitting in her bed shaking was getting her nowhere, it was getting worse the longer she sat there and thought about it, the longer she dithered about how to get it to stop. Standing on unsteady legs, she didn’t even bother to toss on a dressing gown, or slippers, even with the cold outside. Sloane looked out her window only for a moment before flinging it open and closed behind her, clumsily crossing the branches to Lester’s room sheerly by muscle memory. She hadn’t thought to look to see what time it was, but it must have been the middle of the night, his light was off, but thankfully his window unlocked as she crept in.

This was madness, probably the worst decision she could have made, but she didn’t know what else to do. Her entry must have roused him, but Sloane didn’t wait for an invitation, carefully she climbed over him and crawled beneath the covers, situating herself snugly between him and the wall as if it was the safest place she could find. ”I can’t get it to stop.” She explained, holding her shaking hands between them, tears stinging the corners of her eyes.