I was never too friendly with Carys Jacksman.
If anything we were two polar opposites. There was me with my razor-sharp attitude, my tendency to bend rules to suit my liking and forever hearing the Hogwarts teachers groan upon hearing my name. Then there was Carys: rich in exemplary grades, a cheesy smile forever tattooed on her face and never daring to anger the teachers.
Such a pathetic mess. The angelic little Mudblood's name was all that ever sounded from the teachers' lips.
"Carys Jacksman? Oh, yes! Such a good child. Never puts a toe out of line, does little Carys! Carys, the star of the Astronomy Tower...not to mention her skilled hand at Potions! Carys this, Carys that, Carys, Carys, Carys."
"Gabriella Zabini?" they would spit. "Handful of trouble. A wild dragon on the loose! I tell you now, she has the tongue of a serpent. It shows in every spiteful word she says!"
She and I got off on the wrong foot on the train, day one. What happened was a rather ugly and vicious event that ended up with her thinking: I'm not going near that girl, and me thinking: For god's sake, I hope she's not in my house! I hated every dirty drop of blood that circulated her body. The circulation I wanted so badly to pacify...or at least, that was what it seemed.
Until Peeves beat me to it.
The soft wind blew across the spotty meadow, where bees buzzed from flower to flower and flies danced in the breeze. The grass was dappled with the late morning dew and tiny dots of pollen. But these were barely notable...well, not from the distance I stood.
Clutching a bunch of velvety purple flowers, I walked across the meadow. My black shoes squelched against the drying dew. The silk of my long black dress swished against the grass like Death's Cloak.
Death. Not something I wanted to be thinking about. But at a funeral it is the only thing one thinks about.
Memories were already latching themselves on my mind as I walked.
Am I supposed to smile reminiscently or cry? Because I feel nothing.
Who will be there? Oh god, I won't have to endure any more spiteful stares, will I?
The chapel spire emerged from the bushes as I came closer. The metal glistened in the diluted morning sunlight. The sun was playing peekaboo behind some clouds above the spire. Being an English summer, I doubted very much that I'd see much more of it. I groaned.
This won't be much fun. Why am I even going to Carys' funeral, anyway?
No doubt her death had aroused countless soppy emotions among the Ravenclaws, teachers and even ghosts. But the Slytherins were the only ones unaffected. We sat sombre through it all. But anyone could've discovered her body. Why did it have to be me? Why did I have to be in the wrong place at the wrong time? When I saw Carys spread-eagled on the ground I had wondered. I'd thought her just to be jinxed on the bathroom floor. Not that I cared, anyway.
I lifted up my dress and clambered over the rusty old gate at the end of the field. Now the the spire was hidden behind some oak trees: I was almost directly underneath the church itself now.
Gravestones appeared behind low-hanging branches in neat rows as I walked. Yellow moss crept up the ones that crumbled like powdered chalk; flowers in bouquets were placed beside the polished new stones. Even as I turned the corner I could hear a low babble of voices coming from the other side of the church.
So Carys Jacksman was here. Kind of.
Several familiar faces in black dress robes stood by the entrance of the church, carrying lace handkerchieves, murmuring in low, wobbly tones and huddling together in groups. I could make out the faces of many seventh-year Ravenclaws and Professors McGonagall, Slughorn, Hagrid, Flitwick and Sprout. The rest were unfamiliar to me; they just added to the sea of black lace before my eyes. Muggles.
But that was when I saw him. The one person that made my pupils widen in surprise.
Wh-what? Am I hallucinating?
There he stood, white as pastry, tiny blond hairs emerging from his elf-chin, feather-blue eyes staring at the ground.
What is he doing here?
It was Scorpius Malfoy.