On some nights, when he feels particularly loathsome, he convinces himself that he made it all up—that he’s desperate enough for her, his sleep-deprived brain conjured a phantasm. But there’s no mistaking the frantic beating of his heart or the ache in his hands when his Occlumency can’t keep her out. She blooms without mercy, and even the sea can’t quiet the cacophony she rouses in his mind.