It was a normal day.
The students enjoyed the remaining hours of sunlight outdoors, the weather being rather agreeable on that day. The fading light cast abnormal shadows all across the castle, most especially in the window-laden corridors of the upper floors. Tucked behind a tapestry, a couple clung to each other, desperate lips pressed everywhere. At the sound of clicking heels, the couple pressed deeper into their hiding place, hushed.
A clever redhead walked past, seemingly unaware of their presence. A sniffle met their ears, but as the young witch turned the corner, the couple latched back onto each other—the crying girl was long forgotten. The firm tap of mary-janes against marble flooring echoed throughout the floor, the redhead ascending ever further. There was a loud sniffle and a curse. "God," she muttered, pausing at the very top of a winding staircase.
Frantic for air, she pressed on, and finally emerged at the top of a tall turret. She strode out onto the wide terrace, red hair whipping around her. Rubbing her bloodshot eyes, she neared the edge of the balcony, breathing in the sweet summer air. There was a shuffle, and from the corner of her eye, she noticed a couple edging off of the terrace, fingers intertwined. She couldn't even be bothered to scold them.
Something clawed at her throat. When it became clear that she was alone, the girl let out a strangled cry and collapsed into a heap, fingers clawing at the grubby stone flooring of the terrace. Her tear stained cheeks were a crimson far more violent than that of her hair, her eyes rimmed with red, her fingertips bleeding from where she'd dug them into the floor below her.
Another scream escaped her.
It was a normal day, but only for some.
The next day, she sat amongst her fellow Gryffindors, tired and withdrawn, but alive. She met a pair of dark eyes from across the room, but the brief contact was lost as Professor Minerva McGonagall—a firm, middle-aged witch—appeared before the students.
"It is to my understanding," she began, looking ruffled, "that a student has gone missing."
The room descended into whispers and murmurs. The professor peered around the room sternly until the noise dimmed. The redhead ignored the knot in her stomach. She felt eyes on her but didn't dare to look up. McGonagall yielded her position to the headmaster—Albus Dumbledore.
"Hogwarts is safe," he assured them.
The redhead chuckled spitefully. "But, how can that be?" she whispered to no one in particular.
How could that be, she thought, when everything around her was falling apart.
