A/N: This was another possible entry for The Houses Competition, Year 3, Round 10. I ended up going with another entry, but since this was written, it may as well be shared. Please keep in mind that this isn't beta'd yet and was written with a word count and prompts (such as a theme about the truth) in mind :)
If you are looking for a competition to partake in, I do recommend you check out The Houses Competition as well as a new fun experience, The International Wizarding School Championship. They involve writing in a team for several rounds. I also recommend checking out The Golden Snitch for original prompts and to share your love of Harry Potter :)
Have a lovely rest of November x
Denial
Gregory Goyle had never been considered the most intelligent wizard. However, he could always accept the truth.
Gregory shivered as he walked up the Crabbe's staircase. He'd taken the same path every year when the Christmas break was ending, yet this year, it felt colder. Perhaps it was because the fireplace remained unlit this year, or because, like the Crabbes, he now preferred Apparating to Floo, and had therefore been exposed to the snow outside. He didn't mind, though; fire had never been his friend.
"Vinnie? Is that you?"
"Just me," he said with a grunt, entering Vincent's bedroom.
Mrs Crabbe turned from the bed and gave him a small smile. "Hello, Greg dear, he's almost ready. I just need to pack a few things first."
Gregory tilted his head as she finished folding some of Vincent's school robes and placed them in his trunk. She then picked up a green and silver tie, holding it to her chest for just a moment, and placed it on top.
He shuffled on the spot, his stomach doing a funny little twist. He hadn't seen Mrs Crabbe since the trials of his father and her husband, but he'd assumed she'd taken the news of what had happened to Vincent well. He didn't know why his mother had told him to pay her a visit, but as he watched her place a few unopened textbooks into the case, he understood.
"Erm… Mrs Crabbe?"
"Oh, I'm so glad you boys have decided to do your NEWTS again," she said, opening Vincent's sock drawer. "It'll be good, free from distractions… When are your exams again? The end of this semester?"
His stomach churned again and he swallowed thickly. "Cra—Vincent's not returning."
She froze in place for a moment, her hand hovering over the socks. He turned his head to the door, wondering if perhaps someone had sent a Stunning Spell at her; just like the Goyles, the Crabbes now had many enemies furious about their part in the war. She soon turned around, though, with the smile still on her face.
"Silly boy, of course he is. Now hurry up, we need to get him packed so you two can head off back to school. The train won't wait for you," she said, popping two pairs of grey socks into the trunk and shutting the lid.
Gregory swallowed and took a step forward. "Don't you remember what happened?"
The smile disappeared off her face and she sat down on the bed. He could see her hands trembling as she placed them in her lap, and when she locked eyes with him, he saw that her pale eyes were watery.
"When my husband was killed in the war, I was given the title of a widow," she said, taking a shaky breath.
He nodded slowly, remembering vaguely how Mr Crabbe had been hit by a misfired Killing Curse, too distracted by the news of his son's death just moments before. Gregory tried not to blame himself for picking such a bad time, but he hadn't known what else to do. He'd thought that perhaps somehow, Mr Crabbe could go back to the room and reverse what had happened.
Mrs Crabbe took another rattly breath, and a tear slid down her plump cheek. She didn't wipe it away as she continued. "When a child loses their parents, they're called an orphan. What are parents called when they lose a child?"
He shrugged, not sure what the answer was. It seemed to be the response she was looking for because she shook her head and allowed more tears to fall.
"Exactly, a title does not exist. Therefore, I refuse to believe that my son is dead," she said, standing up again. "If he was, then I'd be given a title…"
He opened his mouth to tell her that it was true that Vincent was dead, that he had been killed… but something in the way she was hunched over the trunk again, fighting to smile through the tears now plopping on the trunk's leather surface, that had him closing his mouth.
Looking around, he spotted the little lunch tin Vincent always kept for emergencies and walked over to it. Picking it up, he carried it back to the trunk.
"Vincent will need this," he said, giving it to her to put in. "Hungry this year."
He knew she was aware of the truth, too. He also knew that sometimes, accepting a lie was the better way to go.