Marietta closed her eyes in disgust as the morning light seeped thought the high, slit windows. It was eight o'clock, one of the last Sunday's in June. Usually she appreciated the charmed windows, an unobtrusive alarm clock that let in light at seven on schooldays, eight at others. But today – she had been enjoying lying in the darkness of their dormitory, her face uncovered, free from curious glances.
She lay prone on her blankets, listening to her friends stirring. Sara's bed was creaking and groaning, no doubt as she bounced between piles of different clothes, deciding on something original to wear. She heard Cho roll out of bed and secure her heavy curtains, leaving her four-poster in a semblance of order. Marietta shifted under her duvet, watching her friend pull strands of her long hair into a bobble, grabbing her broom and gloves before heading down the stairs. Sara followed her, and then Emily, who was also an early riser. And then there was silence.
Marietta sat up in bed and yawned, gazing beyond the gauzy blue and bronze claw patterned curtains surrounding her covers. Morgan's curtains were pulled, her friend invisible behind the heavy hanging velvet. Marietta wondered if she was awake. It was possible: Morgan would read anywhere, even in dim wandlight, and her craving for privacy was strong.
Noise from the common room drifted upstairs. Marietta climbed out of bed to slam the mahogany door, shivering in the chilled morning air. She yawned again, and then knelt at her trunk, fishing out a simple blue robe with black trim, and some flimsy fabric: it's matching veil. She faced the dormitory's communal mirror, settling the veil just below her eyelashes. Hurt blue eyes met her gaze, and she bit the inside of her cheeks angrily. That bitch Hermione Granger would pay. One day, she would drip into the floor at Marietta's feet, begging forgiveness, and Marietta would do nothing but smile, and turn away, and call on the Ministry for one beautiful last time.
There was no need to wipe the hatred off her face before she headed downstairs, but Marietta did it anyway, fighting the bile back with difficulty. Nobody could see her face. Cho wouldn't be in the common room, but outside, sweeping thought the air, arms outstretched and grasping for the snitch; Sunday mornings had belonged to the Ravenclaw team for years. But – whether she was inside the castle or circling the Quidditch pitch – Cho still believed Harry Potter and the anti-Ministry lies he spouted at every opportunity. And although her friend's dislike of Hermione Granger rivaled Marietta's at times, of Harry Potter she would hear no wrong.
Marietta shook the thoughts away, her hair falling over her shoulders. She pulled open the door to the stairway, and an immediate spiral of noise rose into their bedroom. Morgan sighed exasperatedly, and Marietta giggled as she left, the sound suddenly freezing between her lips as she spotted Cho standing alone on the staircase. She was clutching a newspaper in one still gloved hand, her eyes full of water and tilted upwards at the cold stone ceiling. A moment later, Marietta had clattered down the stairs and was standing next to her friend.
Cho tried to smile, wipe away tears.
Marietta stood quietly, confusion shrouded across her face. She touched her friend's arm awkwardly. She had not seen Cho's tears, an everyday occurrence in September, and fading ever since, since May. They hadn't been entirely banished: only last week Cho had returned from Quidditch practice with bloodshot eyes, seeking companionship from nothing aside parchment and pillows. But her tears were uncommon now, and hidden, and Marietta didn't want to intrude.
Cho held out the newspaper. 'He's back.'
Marietta frowned, uncomprehending. Then she unrolled the crumpled newssheet. The headline jumped out at her: HE WHO MUST NOT BE NAMED RETURNS.
'I… He…' she dropped her uncertainty with the newspaper and threw her arms around her friend, hugging her fiercely. 'It'll be okay.'
'No. No, it won't. It can't. He… Cedric…'
Cho was shaking, her tears running freely. Marietta felt suddenly chilled. Cedric. It had been true then? Could he really have been murdered by You-Know-Who?
Marietta picked the newspaper off the floor, and scanned the first two paragraphs.
'Lies,' she said faintly. 'Then, it was - all of it was lies.'
Under her tears, Cho's gaze was sharp. 'Of course.'
Marietta shifted her gaze to the second year girls running down the stairs. Her lips twisted into a whisper. 'Sorry. I… I didn't know.'
Cho wiped her eyes, looked back at the ceiling, shrugged. 'It wasn't your fault,' she affirmed, but her voice uncertain and her smile wan. There were still tears welling on her eyelashes.
Marietta bit her lip and reached for Cho's hand, jerking away from her friend at a loud, theatrical sigh, seven stairs up. Morgan was leaning against the door to their bedroom, half dressed, a paperback in her hand. 'Merlin, can't you two lesbo's keep it down? Some of us are trying to sleep.'
More noise drifted up the staircase. Marietta could hear sobbing amidst disjointed fragments of conversation rising from the common room. She focused on that, instead of Cho, thankful that the veil hid most of her flushed face.
Cho hadn't noticed. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she tugged the Sunday Prophet out of Marietta's hand and threw it upwards, where it landed with a slight thud at Morgan's feet. Marietta settled on glaring at classmate, her eyes narrowed.
Morgan rolled her eyes, and then let her eyes drop to the headline. She picked the newspaper up in one jerky movement, her book clattering to the floor.
'Is this a joke?'
Cho took a deep breath, wiped away more tears, and Marietta allowed her glare to subside to a scornful glance. Morgan pushed past them towards the common room, only half dressed in a muggle tee shirt and pajama bottoms. She'd left her paperback where it'd fallen on the stairs.
Cho leant forward and snatched the book off the flagstones. Marietta headed back towards their dormitory, closing the door after gesturing Cho inside. She pushed the door closed firmly, blocking out the distressed babble downstairs.
Marietta sat beside her friend, on her bed. Cho seemed transfixed, gazing at the tiny particles of dust visible in the sunlight. Her eyes were red; it would be obvious to anyone that she had been crying. Marietta slid to the floor and reopened her trunk, this time searching for a book her mother had sent last month: a large purple tomb called 'The Girl's Bible,' pages edged in glittery borders.
Ignoring the index, Marietta flipping though pages deliberately, her fingers finally resting upon a passage (under a section on heartbreak, where the glitter shone blood red and was decidedly gothic) towards the middle of the book. She pointed her wand at Cho. Sheer white replaced the tired, spidery lines etched upon her eyeballs. Cho stood and nodded at her reflection with that thoughtful half smile of hers, the one she wore when impressed.
'Nice.' Her voice was still wavered.
Marietta stood at her shoulder and shrugged.
'Mum sent it.'
'Could have used it last week,' Cho joked.
'You didn't seem to want it,' Marietta muttered sourly, turning away, but her voice was so quiet it got lost in her veil. Cho shifted in front of the mirror, and Marietta fought tears of her own.
She'd seen Cho that week; she'd sought solace deliberately. She hadn't come to her since Hermione's curse. She'd probably been crying over Harry Potter. Marietta thought his name with disgust mingled with pity: usual, familiar emotions. Then she froze, the pustules on her face burning. Harry Potter. He'd been right all along. He'd defeated You-Know-Who at least twice. And– she lifted a hand to her cheek, closed her eyes.
Cedric had really been killed by Him; it hadn't been a tragic accident, a sick joke to save Dumbledore and his favourite student from Azkaban. It had been real.
'Are you okay?'
Marietta jerked backwards, away from Cho's hand. The fabric covering her face felt terribly transparent.
'Marietta?'
She took a deep breath, plastered a smile on her face that nobody could see. 'Fine.'
'You're not-'
Marietta turned her head quickly, so Cho wouldn't see her cry.
The Ministry, her mother, had lied. She had believed them. She saw Hermione Granger in her head, her vile lips twitching with satisfaction, ripping the veil off her cheeks. Hadn't she deserved it?
She looked down at the fabric clenched in her hand. Cho stood beside her and twisted it out of her palm, cradling her friend. Marietta sobbed into her shoulder and a small, rational part of her brain was amused, uncomfortably aware that Cho had stolen her usual role.
But as Marietta calmed her tears, Cho caught them, their positions changing. Marietta cradled her friend for a moment, and then pulled away, a hand on her stomach, sick. She was pureblood. But Cho's parents had been born in Japan; Emily was Muggleborn; Morgan was half blood. Sara's blood was similar to her own: pure, for three generations. She bit her lip, and Cho handed her veil.
Marietta resettled the veil over her cheeks with a simple charm, and flicked her wand at their reddened eyes again to clear them. Cho half smiled at her, and they both fell silent.
Marietta sank upon her bed. Cho looked at her reflection, turning at a knock on the door. Sara opened the heavy oak before Cho did, observing her classmates with a shaky smile. Morgan was behind her, Cho's broom in her hand.
'You both okay?' Morgan asked, laying the broom on Cho's bed. The question seemed genuine.
Behind her, Sara smiled wryly, picked a shimmer of gold off her side table. She pinned her prefects badge to her chest, regretfully shaking off her orange cloak and replacing it with Hogwart's black.
'Flitwick wants everyone downstairs.'
Cho followed her to the door, Marietta a step behind. At the door, Marietta paused, eyes noting Morgan's resolutely blank face and unsettled hands.
'Are you-?'
'I'm getting dressed.' Morgan was terse, flicking dark hair over her shoulders and pulling the curtains around her bed.
Marietta left the door an inch ajar, and followed her friends downstairs. Padma shot her a suspicious glance as she gestured Sara away. Cho sat beside Emily; Marietta joined them, her eyes focusing upon the girls' staircase rather than Flitwick, who was standing on a rickety table, waving his wand for silence.
'Is everyone here?' he squeaked.
The brief calm dissipated as the students shifted, scanning each other critically. A third year dashed up the stairs and emerged a minute later with two friends. Finally, they settled and Flitwick waved his wand at a newspaper. The front page hovered beside him, and he tapped it with his wand.
'The paper is correct. You-Know-Who is back.'
Marietta dropped her gaze, considering strands of carpet. Emily grasped her hand.
'Don't be afraid. You are safe at Hogwarts.'
'Yeah, right,' Marietta muttered, but Flitwick quelled the whispers, exclaiming,
'Dumbledore is back! And you may be pleased to hear – Umbridge will be leaving.'
There were cheers in the common room. Cho, who had been taking Defense, clapped, her hands joining others. Marietta stayed silent. Morgan had remained upstairs, and Padma began whispering in Sara's ear.
She looked away.
'We are strong!' Flitwick jumped off the table. 'So go get breakfast! Classes run as usual tomorrow… ' His voice lost amidst the students', Flitwick began reassuring a group of first years.
Emily turned to her classmates. They hadn't been close this year. 'Breakfast?' she inquired. Cho nodded as Sara, and Padma, joined their trio. Marietta gestured towards the stairs, gladly announcing her excuse.
'I'll get Morgan.'
Anything was preferable to Padma's scornfully perfect face.
She walked up the staircase and stood outside the door to their bedroom. It was fully shut. Marietta hesitated a moment before knocking, pushing the door open when there was no response. At first glance the room was empty, but Morgan's curtains were closed and behind them, Marietta could hear a muffled sound, the deep, unsteady breathing that accompanied hidden tears.
'Morgan?'
The breathing behind the curtain became deeper, quieter.
'We're getting breakfast.'
Another deep breath. Then: 'I'm reading.' The words were carefully spoken, but Morgan's voice was unsteady.
Marietta walked over to her bed and picked up her glittery book of charms. Ironic, that it had been so useful. She heard Morgan's unsettled breathing behind her curtains, and then scowled, lifting her hand to her face again. She'd rather Morgan be crying than her. Then she shook the thought away, crossing the room to stand at Morgan's bed.
'I've got something for you.'
'So?' Morgan sounded frustrated, exasperated, slightly normal.
Marietta grinned, and slid her hand between the curtains, letting it fall open at the charm to quell bloodshot eyes.
'Everyone's going to breakfast together.'
Morgan swore, and her bed creaked. Marietta felt prickles down her spine, spreading across her back. She turned to the mirror and jerked off her veil; for a second, she imagined seeing clear cheeks stare back at her. Then she blinked, observed by only her reflection, a girl with SNEAK plastered across her face. Marietta jerked away and fixed her veil hastily, the burning magic creeping towards her face was nothing. Nothing but Morgan's lazy spellwork.
Marietta spun to face Morgan's rustling curtains. There was nothing Muggle about her friend's appearance now – she was dressed in school uniform, hair falling down over her shoulders, partially obscuring her clear eyes.
'Nice book,' Morgan said, tossing it to her.
Marietta nodded, realizing with dismay that she was shaking more than her friend.
'You could use it yourself.'
Marietta shook her head, but lifted her wand as Morgan leant out the window, her hair streaming in the wind. Marietta blinked clear eyes moments later. Her veil fluttered in the blustering cold when Morgan moved beside her.
'Okay?'
Marietta nodded; Morgan understood. They headed downstairs, each set of eyes avoiding the other.