Disclaimer: Potterverse belongs to Rowling
Sometimes having your two best friends as prefects really sucked. Especially when two first years had made a mess of the sixth flour bathroom, causing those same two best friends to abandon you for an afternoon.
Before, it hadn't been so bad. After Bridget came she was around even when Ron and Hermione weren't, offering a snide retort or friendly laugh. He hadn't felt so alone when she was around, like he wasn't the third wheel anymore. Had all of that really been a lie?
He'd been spending a lot time, recently, thinking about Bridget and the moments they'd shared together. He kept thinking back, analyzing every mood she'd made and rethinking it with the mindset that she was on Voldemort's side. It was a strange thing to do for Harry, and it hurt far more than he'd liked to admit. Everything they'd said to each other, all those lies, it had meant more to Harry than he'd realized. Having that all lost now was killing him a little. It wasn't fair.
If only Lillian was alive. Maybe she'd have the answers to this mess. Maybe it would be Lillian walking with Harry out on the grounds, preventing him from feeling so alone. Her red hair would be blowing in the wind, a light smile playing across her features. Harry felt heavy as he thought about his sister, because even though he'd known her for such a short time thinking about her hurt him. It struck him with a loss that was hard to deal sometimes, especially when he was so alone.
As Harry walked past a grove of trees by the lake he heard voices, one specifically that immediately grabbed his attention. Bridget was talking to somebody, Malfoy it sounded like, her voice solemn and low as she ran her hand through the water at the edge of the lake.
"Are you okay?" Malfoy asked. Bridget didn't look at him, keeping her gaze set straight ahead, focused on something Harry couldn't see. He found himself a seat behind a tree, hiding himself as he listened intently. She'd tell Malfoy the truth, for sure, and Harry would finally understand the things he'd worked so hard to figure out. Questions like why would become clear to him now.
"No," Bridget murmured. "Everybody stares at me now. I feel…" she trailed off, and Harry knew her well enough to know she wasn't going to finish her thought. Even as he knew her Bridget kept bits and pieces enclosed inside her heart, always hesitant to let them out. It surprised Harry that he knew this; he hadn't realized he'd known her so well.
"Ignore them. They're only acting on the rumors, what they've heard. They weren't there when it happen," Malfoy consoled. "What did happen?"
"Exactly what I've been telling everybody. Voldemort wanted me to follow him somewhere and I was damn bored that I did. It was to the Order headquarters and I didn't realize it until it was too late. I fired off a spell towards a Death Eater but I lost aim and it hit Lupin instead."
Harry had to bit his lip to keep from protesting. He'd heard that excuse over and over, for Bridget would not admit to anything else happening. Why would she hide the truth from Malfoy, though? Weren't they on the same side? If anybody, she could confide in the Slytherin prat. Or did Bridget just have a lying complex? Did she crave the lies in favor over the truth, telling them to anybody who would listen?
"I'm sorry," Malfoy whispered. His concern was also an enigma to Harry. Malfoy rarely cared for anybody other than himself, so why did Bridget draw his attention so?
"I know you are. You always are."
They didn't speak for a few moments, words not amounting to whatever they were thinking. This tidbit of conversation was giving Harry a head ache, contradicting everything he believed, everything he wanted to know.
"What else happened?" Malfoy finally asked. Bridget turned to face him then, a confused look on her face.
"What do you mean?"
"You ran away, didn't you? Something else happened and I want to know what."
So this was it, Harry thought. Something else had happened. There was more to the story, more to whatever had happened that fateful night. Harry leaned forward unintentionally, anxious to know exactly what it was.
"Draco, that is none of your business," she snapped.
"What are you hiding?" Draco demanded. Harry held his breathe. His mind echoed the same question Malfoy had voiced and he wondered why she couldn't tell anybody, not even her most trusted cousin. It couldn't be that horrible, whatever it was, could it? Or was Bridget more dangerous that he'd ever imagined?
"A whole lot of rubbish," she sighed, shaking her head.
"Please, tell me," Malfoy pleaded. He placed a hand on Bridget's shoulder.
"How do you know it's anything? Maybe I ran because I had to get away," Bridget jeered with a smile. It didn't touch her eyes, though, leaving a hollow look there, one Harry didn't know existed.
"He was angry, Bridget. I was never there, but from what I've heard…" Malfoy trailed off, a contemplative look appearing on his face. Harry's jaw dropped like gravity, the situation hitting him like a brick while.
He remembered that night. He'd felt his scar burn that night, knowing that Voldemort was angry, but he'd thought it had something to do with the attack. He hadn't thought much of it, couldn't imagine there was something he didn't know.
Something else had happened that night, though, something Bridget wouldn't tell Malfoy, wouldn't tell anybody. She'd done something, said something, caused something to happen that had shaken Voldemort so much that Harry's star still hadn't fully stopped prickling. The attack, made for whatever reason, had not resulted in the way Voldemort had planned.
"Just forget about it," Bridget told him. "I'm already gotten over it and maybe you should too."
"Fine," Malfoy agreed, giving up. "But promise me you'll figure it out? I don't' like seeing you this way," he said before getting up and leaving Bridget all alone. She watched him go, her face composed nicely.
Harry too got up, knowing he wasn't going to get anything else out listening to her. If she wasn't going to tell Malfoy the truth than she wouldn't tell anybody. It was no use obsessing over somebody who would betray him so easily, causing havoc upon his emotions.
Whatever she was hiding it didn't matter anymore. She was dead to him.
