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Wrong
By CEA
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This wasn't how it was supposed to happen, he thought, staring at the grave. This wasn't right. Any of it.
And still he couldn't shake himself of her ghost.
~*~
He'd heard the sound of some one crying from above the landing, and he'd been surprised. It was the first day of the school year, and they were back for his sixth year. Why would some one be unhappy to be back? Curious and worried, he made his way down the stairs.
His curiosity was replaced by both shock and a sense of disgust as his eyes were filled with red-gold hair and a tall, lithe frame. It was her. What right had she to cry? "What are you doing?" he asked, proud of himself for not saying the million other thoughts that went through his head.
She tensed, but she did not turn around. "Go away, Potter."
"Why should I? Why are you crying?"
"You don't care. You hate me, and I hate you, so leave me alone."
"Damn straight," he said angrily, reaching the level she was on and crossing his arms over his chest, barely five feet from her. "I don't see what reason you have to cry, aside from the fact that you missed out on your chance to get us all expelled!"
"What do you know?" she cried, turning to face him, and he sucked in a sharp breath. Those purple dots were still there, proclaiming to all the world that she was still a SNEAK. "Go cry to your girlfriend about it, Potter, and in the meantime, wait for the chances I'm willing to take to make her life a living Hell!"
"Hermione is not my girlfriend," he retorted, "and you will not touch her."
"What? You think you can stop me?" she hissed, turning to leave. He blocked her path. She could either go down to the next landing - and therefore outside into the cold air - or stay where she was. She chose the latter, glaring at him.
"I know I can stop you," he said softly.
"You don't get it, do you?" she whispered, standing up straight, a smirk on her lips even as the tearstains on her cheek glistened in the dim light. "You Gryffindors, all alike. You don't know how to forgive, and you're so quick to judge," she said, circling him slowly. He became suddenly aware of the rest of her, the way she moved stealthily, the way she shook her hips, and he closed his eyes out of pure disgust. What was she doing to him? "Everyone here just looks at me and sees the obvious things, or the rumors - that I'm wrong, or messed up, or beautiful." She smiled, and he opened his eyes again, even more disgusted than before. "I used to hide behind all of that," she said softly. "But you know, I'm sick of it. I know who I am. You don't." She shrugged, leaning against the wall. "Would you care to be enlightened?"
"No," he hissed, turning to leave, suddenly very uncomfortable.
"Stop where you are, Potter," she said loudly, and for some reason, he obeyed, his eyes still locked with hers. She walked over to him, standing in front of him. "You want to hate me?" she asked, reaching up and brushing some of his ever-unruly hair out of his eyes, which widened in uncertainty. "Fine," she said, leaning close to his ear. "Hate me. But hate me. Not who you think I am."
"Marietta," he began to interrupt, but her hand covered his mouth as she leaned back and walked away a bit, thinking.
"You've never even seen either of my parents, have you, Potter?"
"No," he said. He had no idea why he felt compelled to stay, but compelled he did, indeed, feel.
"It's just as well, I suppose," she commented. "They're both crazy," she said, spinning in a circle, giggling. He wondered if she was slightly drunk. "My dad's gone all the time," she continued, collapsing against a wall, smiling. "And when he comes back, he yells and he drinks. Oh, but mummy loves him so," she said, as though she was telling a secret. "After all, he gets paid over a million pounds a week!" The smile on her face looked very fixed now. "She doesn't care whether or not he's off fucking that blonde bimbo of his, or whether or not he cares for his only daughter. Nope," she said, sighing. "The money more then makes up for that. And then, there's my mother," she said, grinning again. Moving away from the wall, she walked up to him quickly. "You never knew your mother?"
"No."
"Just as well. Who knows, she could have ended up like mine." Her smile faded again, and she looked angry, almost as though she might cry. "That cold bitch," she hissed, with such loathing that Harry was shocked. "'You're very pretty, Mari'," she mimicked in a high voice, "'but not quite pretty enough. And straight O's isn't good enough. And let us not forget that you didn't make it into Slytherin! What an utter disappointment to the family! Now, be a good little girl and go serve Lord Voldemort'!" She spat out the last sentence, and Harry froze, going cold at the way she said it. Pulling back her sleeve, she thrust her left forearm towards him. Momentarily frightened, he was relieved to find no blemish on it. "But I wouldn't," she said, with a gleam in her eye. "I couldn't."
Anger bubbled to the surface again. "Then why did you go to Umbridge?" he asked, his eyes narrowing. "If you are so against all of this, why did you do it?"
Her face fell and she looked away. Stumbling to the side and away from him, he stared at her in surprise as she lifted he hands to her face and angrily pushed some hair away as she started crying again, making a soft sound that he would have labeled a whimper had it come from anyone else, but here it seemed more like a plea. Then, startling him, she let out an angry scream and turned, smacking her palm against the wall and leaning against it, furiously rubbing the tears away from her eyes. She turned, so she was leaning against the wall, and all he could see was her profile until she turned her head to him, her features laced with a bittersweet smile. "Haven't you ever made a mistake?" she asked softly. He recoiled as though she'd slapped him, as all the memories of Sirius came back. "Haven't you ever done something that you knew was horrible - something you regretted so much later - but you can't ever go back?" she continued. "It was wrong," she said, louder, sadder, "and I know it, and I'm sorry!" She slid down the wall and looked into her lap, her hair shielding her from him. "I don't know why I let her get to me, and I'm so sorry, but I can't change anything! I would do anything to take back what I did, but I can't! I would say anything to gain back all the trust and respect I lost, but I don't know what to say, and I am sorry," she cried, and buried her head in her lap. He was shaking, though he couldn't say what from, as he finally moved over to her and knelt down.
"Mari?" he whispered, smoothing her hair back, and he gasped as she looked up at him. Her beautiful face was beautiful once again, free of those purple pustules of Hermione's, and those tears shone in her bright blue eyes. He placed a hand on her cheek, feeling how it was now smooth, and her eyes narrowed as she brought a hand up to her other cheek. Her eyes widened, and she let out a small gasp of delight. He dropped his hand as her other hand came up, cupping both cheeks - and then she smiled, truly, and her entire being lit up and she looked up at him. He stood as she did, and that happy smile was replaced by one he had known before he knew her name, and only recognized her by her reputation and looks - cocky. But he didn't hate it as he had before.
"So do you hate me still?" she whispered, but somehow he got the feeling that she knew the answer already - as though she had just read his mind. "Do you think you still have the power?" she added, almost as an afterthought.
His eyes narrowed, wondering what she meant. "We all have power of our own, Marietta," he said.
She laughed, throwing her head back, and then, to his immense shock, kissed him. It took him a moment to realize what was happening, and this his eyes were closed and he was kissing her back, and o! she tasted sweet - like licorice and sugar and something else, something infinitely sexy. He could feel his heart pounding and the blood rushing through every vein in his body. Every part of him wanted to be engulfed by her and her beauty, and the infinite knowledge and desire for everything that flooded her eyes and movements. He wanted her, in her completeness, with every fiber of his being. His hands went to her waist of there own accord, and with a giddy feeling, he recognized that he, Harry Potter, was holding Marietta Edgecombe - who despite everything she said was perfect. He could feel it. This girl was perfect. She knew what she wanted, and she would never go astray again from that. She was gorgeous. She was everything he needed.
And then she pulled away, and smiled at him - and before he could even speak and left his embrace, and dashed up the stairs. He turned, feeling devoid of everything, his head swimming. "No, Mari!" he cried, watching her go, prepared to go after her.
She turned, a nymph in all of her glory, that smile still on her face. "I have the power here," she said coyly.
He was stunned. He'd heard the girls talking, he read the books, heard the stories. That was the kiss of his life, the kiss all others would forever be judged by, the kiss he would always remember in all of its perfection and imperfection. He was not supposed to have received that kiss from Marietta Edgecombe. He knew that as much as he knew that he just had.
Her eyes met his again for a mere second.
And then she was gone.
He'd never felt more alone in his life.
~*~
It took him little time to realize that despite everything he felt, she felt nothing in return - he meant nothing to her. He was in despair as he saw her across the Great Hall, her red-gold hair shining, and her azure eyes crinkled with the smile on her wine-colored lips. He would watch her walk, her hips sashaying; watch her talk with her friends, capturing every curve with his eyes. He would watch her breath, and if he could, he would have watched her forever. He knew he was addicted, but he didn't do a thing to stop it.
She caught his eye once, and he knew that she knew. He knew she could feel his eyes on her, and she never tried to stop it, or to give him any reason not to want to watch. When Ron would see her and make some snide remark, and Harry would snap back angrily, she was watching and smiling.
Then the end of that year came, and she was gone. He didn't know what to do without her.
~*~
Harry woke up, feeling groggy, and quickly he shut his eyes against the blinding white and groaned. He heard the rush of footsteps and voices from far away. Opening his eyes again, both faces and voice became clear, and he recognized Hermione, and Ron, and most of his Professors. "Harry, are you alright? Harry?" Hermione was saying. Not sure whether or not it would hurt to speak, he nodded. She looked very relieved.
"Here, Potter, drink this," Madame Pomfrey said, holding a vial to his lips, and he drank thirstily. When she pulled it back, everything felt better, and he found that he could talk. He addressed Professor Dumbledore first.
"What happened?"
"You defeated him," Ron cut in, brightly. "You saved the world, Harry! Again!"
"Yes, Potter," said Professor McGonagall, and he met her raised eyebrow with a sense of relief. "You seem to have a knack for doing that."
He couldn't help but appreciate her somehow more gentle way of putting it, and smiled to show his gratitude. "He needs sleep," Pomfrey said, as usual annoyed by the amount of people surrounding her patient.
"Wait," Harry said, a fear suddenly gripping his heart. He turned to Dumbledore. "How many died?" he asked.
Dumbledore's smile faltered. "Too many," he answered, "Students, staff, and alumni alike."
"Did she?..." Harry trailed off, and the others looked confused. But not Dumbledore. He, as always, seemed to know who Harry meant. And Harry heart turned to ice as Dumbledore sadly shook his head.
"No, Harry," he said, his voice laced with infinite sadness and age. "She did not make it."
The utter cry of despair that ripped from the core of Harry Potter rang throughout the school, and for many minutes not another word was spoken.
~*~
He didn't understand it. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. The hero was supposed to get the girl - the girl was not supposed to tease him and taunt him and then lie in the cold ground at his feet as he cried. It wasn't fair, and it wasn't right.
Because somehow, he knew, in those few minutes he'd spent with her, he had fallen in love with her. He didn't know why, and he didn't know how. All he knew was that his life was empty without her light, the light of a fallen angel. Only she could make him whole again.
His cold hand let go, and he watched the single red rose fall to lie at the front of the gravestone.
~*~
Marietta Edgecombe
1979 – 1997
Lay her i' the earth;—
And from her fair and unpolluted flesh
May violets spring.
~*~
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A/N: At some point, everyone dies. It has to happen. Even if it isn't fair.
Please read and review.
And if you need more Marietta, I have another story starring her - Queen of the Ravens. Less death, more fun.
Also, the inscription upon her grave is from Shakespeare's Othello, and the one below is from Romeo and Juliet.
Love,
~*CEA
Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath,
Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty:
Thou art not conquered; beauty's ensign yet
Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks,
And death's pale flag is not advanced there
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