A/N: I don't own Harry Potter or any related characters
This is for the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Word count: 643
Warning: descriptions of a panic attack
At some point the noise had to quiet, didn't it?
At some point, the party would die down, people would crash,
falling asleep on the chairs and sofas of the common room.
At some point, she could finally stop shaking,
could finally stop twitching as her head spun and she longed for that silence.
The common room was always too loud for her.
Her bed, safe and slightly more quiet, wasn't a refuge,
too many people in and out.
Too many people who were her friends, but at the
same time, not.
She couldn't let anyone see her like this.
She couldn't let them see her breaking down.
Everyone always saw her as so perfect,
as someone who had everything together.
She was lying to them,
lying to herself.
She hid, curled in a ball, head against her knees,
in the corner of the room.
Pretending everything was fine,
she was just here same as everyone else.
The noise had become a dull roar,
dying a little bit every passing hour.
The sky darkened and she watched it,
watched the stars start to glow brightly
in the vast navy abyss.
The moon hung a silvery ornament,
like those that had decorated the trees
at Christmas. She let her mind wander back to then,
back to when the common room was nearly empty,
when everyone had gone home to their families.
The quiet then had been almost deafening,
too much, too quiet as her own thoughts
became too loud.
That had been the beginning,
she'd curled up in a ball
waiting for it to end.
"It's going to be alright,"
a voice promised softly,
one she had never noticed before.
It wasn't hers, it wasn't one of the ones
in her head repeating horrible things over and over.
No, this was friendly.
"I've got you, if you want," the voice promised,
and she did, she wanted him to have her,
she blinked her eyes open and looked at him.
"Dean? I thought-"
"I'd gone home, yeah, no, it's quieter here."
"Too quiet," she whispered.
Dean simply nodded, sitting down at the edge of
her bed.
"Hold my hand, maybe it will help?"
He offered, his hand, she took it,
her fingers curling around his palm.
She could see paint around the edges of his nails,
swirls of color against his dark skin.
Sand, soft blue, red, golden flecks,
she saw them all.
"It helps to find something else to focus on,
doesn't it?"
"It does," she answered, taking her eyes from
his hands.
The voices were gone, quieted for now.
That was then, Christmas,
this was now.
The celebration was dying down,
the roar becoming a low din,
a low hum in the background.
"Hey, it's going to be alright."
Dean was there, standing next to her.
He smiled, reaching a hand out.
She took it without hesitation.
Being near him always helped,
pulled her focus from the noise.
His hands were clean, but there was a
dot of baby blue paint on his nose.
She stared at it, for a moment.
Dean laughed.
"Did I miss a a spot then?'
"You did," she answered, catching the remnants of
a golden firework sparkling from the corner of her eye.
"Oh well, not the first or last time," he laughed.
"I never did thank you, for Christmas, you know."
"You're fine, I don't need anything. Just making sure
you're alright now, that's good enough for me."
She smiled, slowly rising to her feet and
wrapping her arms around Dean.
"A hug is always the right size," she murmured.
"It is, and I'm here for you, as long as you'd like,"
he replied, holding her until she finally let go,
feeling safe again, feeling the panic ebb into
almost nothingness.