Disclaimer: I'm not British -sulking-, I'm not blond, I don't have a husband or kids, and I am most definitely not the second-richest woman in the world; therefore, I do not own the Harry Potter series.
This is dedicated to my bestest buddy in fanfic EVER!! Love you Sevenne!
It's Gone!!!
"Noooooo!!!"
The loud, earsplitting scream rang throughout the castle. Professor Trelawney's eyes, gazing intently into her crystal orb, widened – it must be a signal from the restless spirits – while Peeves zoomed away down a corridor cackling madly. Any noise of disturbance or chaos was fine by him. Early-rising students looked cautiously around corners, searching for the catalyst of the sound. In this time of war, who knew who it could be. . . .
In Gryffindor Tower, Michelle Black jerked awake, so startled that she fell into an undignified heap, entangled in bedsheets.
"Wha-" Hermione's eyes, too, had come open at the sound and she attempted to speak around a large yawn. "What's going on?"
"I don't know," Michelle answered, grabbing her wand from the bedside table as she threw a robe on over her nightgown. She might as well go down to breakfast now.
"What is that?" Lavender demanded from the far corner of the room, her usually immaculate blond hair a bedraggled mess. "We do need our beauty sleep, you know." Next to her, her best friend, Parvati, nodded agreement.
There was only one girl missing and Michelle paled as she realized who it was.
Sevenne.
"Michelle?" Hermione walked toward her friend, looking concerned. The other witch didn't answer and, shoving Hermione's own wand into the girl's shaking hand, she raced out of the room, down the stairs, and out the portrait hole.
"Michelle, slow down. I can't . . . keep . . . up," Hermione panted directly behind her.
No answer, save for the pounding of feet down the corridor.
"Michelle . . . what's . . . wrong?" Her words were punctuated by pained gasps.
"It's Sevenne," Michelle answered tersely, not even bothering to turn around. "That was her scream, I know it." She could be hurt, dead even, she thought, but didn't voice. The thought in and of itself made her shiver.
Reaching her destination, Michelle plunged through the doors to the Great Hall, Hermione hot on her heels. Eyes wild, she scanned the hall for her best friend's telltale blond hair – please, please, oh God, please – and found her . . . sobbing her eyes out on her boyfriend, Fred's, shoulder.
"Sevenne!" she cried, pushing her way through the crowd that had now gathered.
"Move it, pipsqueak!" she growled menacingly at the few first and second years that dared to stand in her way. In under a minute, she was kneeling next to the distraught girl.
"Sevenne," she said softly, placing a hand on her back. The blond's head jerked up and, half-looking as if she were in a trance, turned to face her. For a moment, there was complete and utter silence; no one dared move a fork . . . and then, Sevenne lunged at Michelle toppling them both to the floor.
A few of the burlier-looking students started forward, but a fierce glare from both Michelle and Fred stopped them.
"There, there, shh. It's alright, I'm here now. What's wrong?" Michelle carded her fingers through the girl's hair as if she were a child. Sevenne didn't answer and her nightgown grew steadily more wet as her anguished sobs grew louder. Exchanging nervous looks, Fred and George helped her to her feet.
"Come on, Sevenne, you need to tell me. I can't help you unless you tell me," Michelle coaxed.
And, for the second time, Sevenne met her friend's eyes, her own blue orbs overflowing with tears.
"It . . . Michelle, it. . . ."
"What, Sevenne, what is it?"
"I-it's gone!" she finally wailed and, with that tragic proclamation, proceeded to bury her face once more in Michelle's shoulder.
"What's gone?"
Indistinct mumbling was her only answer. Michelle fought the urge to sigh.
"What?"
"Bagels."
"Bagels?" Michelle repeated incredulously, just to make sure she'd gotten it right.
"Yes!" she screamed, words barely coherent around her strangled sobs. "They're not here, Michelle, they're not here! I checked. There's pancakes . . . and sausages . . . and bacon . . . and cereal . . . and more pancakes - but no bagels!"
Patting her friend vaguely on the back, Michelle pushed the blond toward a concerned-looking Fred and, striding toward the long Gryffindor table, began to scan the various platters for the holed confections. It wasn't too easy to concentrate with Sevenne continuing her anguished monologue at high volume.
"My precious bagels are gone! Gone, I tell you, gone! Oh, Fred, Freddy, what am I going to do without them? I can't live without them!" Squeezing between two diminutive second years, Michelle finally found what she was looking for.
"Sevenne," she began tentatively, studying the grieving girl clinging to Fred as though her life depended on it.
"What?" the usually vivacious girl asked, her voice dead. Compared to everything that had happened so far today – and it had only been fifteen minutes – this freaked Michelle out the most.
What happened to the crazy Sevenne? The cheerful one who's always up for a prank or a dare? Merlin, if this is what happens to her when there are no bagels, I never want to see her like this again.
"Come here, I want to show you something," she replied kindly, beckoning the other girl forward. Sighing, Sevenne slowly shuffled forward, eyes dead and fixed on the floor; it was as if her life force had been drained out of her.
Hundreds of pairs of eyes followed them as they walked halfway down the table, coming to rest facing a large tureen.
"What?" Sevenne repeated, watching the black-haired witch expectantly. "What am I supposed to see?"
For answer, Michelle pointed silently toward the table. Following the track of her finger, Sevenne's eyes moved past the tureen and came to rest on . . . but no, it couldn't be. . . .
With a shriek of delight, Sevenne leapt onto the table and grabbed the platter of bagels. Taking a large bite out of the first one she saw, she turned back to Michelle, gave her a rib-breaking hug that could rival one of Hagrid's and, with a moan of delight, turned back to her beloved bagels.
Fred's eyes went wide as he watched his girlfriend gorge herself on the plate and, eyes shining with tenderness, settled himself next to her. As he reached for a bagel of his own, she slapped his hand away.
"Where was it?" asked George, who had watched the whole exchange with barely-concealed amusement.
"Oh, behind that big bowl of black pudding." Michelle gestured at the tureen, watching her friend munch happily on her third bagel. "She hates it, I knew she wouldn't bother to check behind it."
"Remind me never to do anything to her bagels," George said faintly, studying Sevenne's fierce expression. Michelle just laughed, happy that her friend was back to normal.
(A/N: And the moral of this story is . . . to NEVER, EVER take a bagel away from Sevenne).
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