Handkerchief

You could not tell from looking at her now, but Charity Burbage was once one of the most promising young witches of Hogwarts.

I remember she was famous for two things- for her hair, which changed colors so often that nobody really remembered its original hue; and for her voice. Charity was a fantastic singer. She was the lead soprano of the school choir. And when you heard that lilting voice come tumbling over you, oh, it was hard not to do whatever she said.

"I've got to save my voice," she would always say when people asked why she spoke so rarely. And it would make sense, eliciting a little nod and smile and a nice melting feeling in your heart. It was impossible not to love Charity.

Even Sirius, who was skeptical of the fairer sex as a whole, was a bit predisposed toward her. Lily would tease him nonstop ("Why, Sirius, you mean I'm not the only woman in your life?") and that would lead to laughing little spats that Charity was never privy to.

I personally never found myself fancying her- sheer luck, as most of the boys in our year did at some point- but I didn't mind her in the slightest. She was a good girl, studying hard but making time for her friends, too; you never saw her anywhere without her best friend, Emily. Such a well-known pair.

Once, on a Hogsmeade weekend, we were waiting at the edge of the village for the carriages. It was drizzling rain, the warm smell of the earth rising up from the ground, and I was with James. Remus was ill and Sirius had a detention, and my only remaining friend was preoccupied with playing with (yet another) one of his stolen Snitches, so I took the opportunity to let my gaze wander.

First I looked at James's line of sight, and- surprise, surprise- he was focused on Lily and her friends. They were meant to go on a date that day, but she'd changed her mind in favor of some quality time with her girlfriends. Not much interesting there.

I looked to the other side and saw Charity- standing alone. She didn't have an umbrella, like the others, and had not charmed something for cover.

Just as I began to feel sorry for her, a carriage rattled and rolled past and splashed mud on me, spattering my face and staining my cloak and tie. James's laughter was a sharp, familiar sound in my ears, but it was cut through by that soft, musical voice.

"Here."

I looked up- Charity stood in front of me, her blond hair rain-dampened and around her shoulders, her cloak drawn tightly around her, a shy smile gracing her lips. And in her proffered hand was a white handkerchief.

"You've got a bit of, erm-" She tapped her nose, eyes twinkling.

"Thanks," I said slowly, accepting it.

She nodded, and, putting her hands in her pockets, told me, "You can return it to me later."

I promise you, I held onto that handkerchief with a soft fist and intended to return it to her the very next day, finding my way to the Hufflepuff common room just to hand it to her in person. But she wasn't there. The only and last time I saw her was at graduation a few weeks later.

I remember, oddly, that she was wearing an argyle sweater that day. She wore them often. And hand-knit scarves, she liked those. Such trivial little facts, but the kind that always remained vivid to me, that still remains vivid to me now.

But today her sweater is as grey as her skin. And her voice, the beautiful voice, is cracking and pleading.

"Please…"

I don't know if the Dark Lord knew it, or if he particularly cared. But I put my hand in my pocket- my real hand- and felt the thin, time-roughened cloth of a plain handkerchief in my pocket.

It is strange. For then, as she was revolving slowly in the air, tears pouring from her eyes- for one fleeting moment, I had wanted to return it to her.

Author's Note: So... this is a little different from my usual approach. I dunno. I really find Burbage a fascinating character and I wanted a chance to develop her a little. Reviews, maybe?