"Oi, she's usually here first," I say, craning my neck to see if she was coming down the staircase.
"Dunno," Fred said shrugging his shoulders, "Maybe she's ill, George."
I twiddle my thumbs and listen to Fred yammer on about something or another for several minutes before Clara makes her way down the stairs, quickly and quietly.
She tucks her hair, wild and unkempt, behind her ear as she folds the flap over her bag. "I'm so sorry I'm running behind," she starts, voice shaking. "I had trouble sleeping last night."
"Doesn't matter to us," Fred says cooly.
"No one really expects us to be on time anyway", I finish.
She leads the way as we walk to Transfiguration. "You alright?" I ask, and she mutters something about not feeling too well. As we walk, Fred and I had a heated discussion about who would be the next to write to mum, seeing as I was the last to do it, and all the while she walks quietly in front of us.
"Fred, it's your turn," I say sternly.
"But what I'm saying is that you could do it again and I'll write to her the next two times," he says, begging me to take the bargain.
"No," I say sternly. "You have to write to mum."
"Don't be a git, George," he says. "Just do me this one favor. I have homework to work on."
I stop for a moment and look at him, mouth gaping open in a slight smile.
"Now you're just grasping for straws," I laugh.
"Come on," he says, hands together, pleading.
I roll my eyes. "Fine."
Clara, noticing that we've stopped several paces back, turns to us. "Come on boys!"
We catch up quickly and Fred puts his arm around her shoulders. "Lets go, then dawdler," he says, poking fun.
We walk closer to the door, "Oi, you're just going to let him talk to you like that? " I laugh.
Her lips curl up into a small smile, "I'm just not feeling well today," she says, "I'm sorry."
She enters the door first and Fred and I follow. She takes her normal seat next to Angelina. They whisper back and forth together for only a moment and Fred leans back into his chair.
"There's something going on with her," I said, eyes focused on the back of her head.
"You think so?" He said.
"She's not acting like Clara. How have you not noticed?" I asked, bewildered.
McGonnagall walked in, and class started but I noticed the brown haired girl in front of me, with her chin resting on her hand. Obviously with thoughts that weren't about Transfiguration. The rest of the day went by slowly and Clara's mood didn't improve, but I pushed it to the back of my mind. That evening we parted ways after our dinner. I had stuffed my stomach with as much pork chops as I could, Fred diving right into the black pudding. Meanwhile, Clara only picked at the food she put on her plate. Taking a bite when she would catch one of us staring.
Fred and I went to a very uneventful detention with Filch, our last for the week (you know, until he finally opens that drawer to find the dung bomb that I so cleverly dropped in there for him).
Upon our return to the common room, we found Clara curled into a chair holding a letter. She smiled at us as we entered.
"Whatcha got there?" Fred said, perching himself onto the arm of the chair.
"It's a letter from my dad," she said, folding it back into itself. "He's just writing to check up on me."
"What's got you in a slump today?" I ask, taking a seat on the cough across from her.
"Im just thinking about a lot today," she said in a soft voice.
"I know just what you need," Fred told her, exchanging a glance with me. Come with us."
She begrudgingly got up from the couch and made her way through the portrait hole.
As we meandered through the halls, I noticed that Fred was taking us down toward the Entrance Hall, but I knew there was a twist. There always is with Fred.
As he takes a turn and leads us downstairs, I realize that I know exactly where we are going, and I'm starting to think that his plan might work.
Fred tickles the pear on the portrait, and as he does the pear begins to shake and giggle, revealing a large green door handle. He take it into his hands and pulls with all his strength to open its doors. As he does, a small house elf approaches us.
"Yes?" The elf squeaks.
"Yes, I was wondering if I might take with me any leftover cakes or pies that you might have. You see, my friend is in a right state, and she missed dinner. We wanted to see if you had any to spare."
Clara looks to the house elf and waves, giving her a sweet smile. The first genuine smile I've seen today.
The house elf ponders for a moment, looking from Fred to Clara and then waddles away. Fred turns and shares a quick glance with me, and the look on his face said it all. He thinks he's sweet talked this elf into giving him what he wants.
The house elf brings back a full napkin, tied at the top to ensure the pastries' safety. The elf walks directly past Fred and places it in Clara's hands.
"Anything for Miss Montgomery," the elf says shakily.
"Thank you, ma'am," she nods.
Fred's mouth gaped open so wide, I believe it could catch flies, and I chuckle to myself. Of course she's made friends with the house elves already.
She clutches the napkin close to her chest. "These are my best friends Fred and George," she says gesturing to us. "They mean well. They're good people like me," she tells her. "If you need anything, you can go to them."
The house elf nods slowly, looking Fred and I up and down. "We'll be out of your way now," she says kindly as she grabs hold of Fred's arm.
She leads us out of the kitchen and we walk through the corridor. I'm stepping ahead, peering around corners, searching for any professors patrolling the corridor. As we make our way up the grand staircase, Fred whispers the password to the Fat Lady and we find our safety inside Gryffindor tower.
"It was about a month or two ago," Clara said, laying the sweets out on the carpet in front of the fire. "I went walking through the castle before curfew and I found the entrance to the kitchens. There were some older Slytherins inside, and I heard them yelling at the house elves."
"It was getting pretty bad, and Pimney- the house elf that gave us the sweets, she was shaking like a leaf. So I drew my wand and told them that I'd make such a fuss that Dumbledore would hear all the way from his office. They called my bluff and I started screaming at the top of my lungs. Scared them right off."
She picked at a treckle tart, "Since then, the house elves have been really nice to me."
"Impressive," I said with a slow nod.
"Taking down older wizards, one big mouth at a time," Fred said with a stuffed mouth.
Clara took a small bite into her mouth and started to chew. As she did, she started to melt slightly. Her shoulders became less tense and her body relaxed. She took a larger bite, and then another one.
"Today's just been really hard," she said quietly, as she stared at the fire, her fingernails picking at her next sweet.
"How so?" Fred asks with his mouth full.
"My mum," she said. "Today makes 3 years since she died." She took another large bite of pie and tears welled in her eyes. She blinked furiously in an attempt to suppress them, and inhaled a deep breath.
"That really sucks," I said.
"Yeah," she replied, mouth full. Clara took a moment to swallow the bite she had been chewing and opened her mouth to say something, but closed it before any noise came out.
"Was she sick?" I ask and she looks to me. "You've never really mentioned it before, that's the only reason I ask."
"Sort of," she said softly. "She was sick for a long time, we just didn't know it. Something was growing in her brain, made it difficult for her to do certain stuff, ya know?"
There was silence. The crackle of the fire in front of us was deafening, waiting for Clara to find her bravery to finish her story. A story that I can't believe she's never told us before.
"The muggle doctors didn't catch it. One day she was here, lovely and vibrant. The next she was just gone."
I put my hand on her shoulder and Fred lays across the floor, placing his head in n her lap. Merlin, what an awful thing to have gone through. I think about my own mother, and how insensitive I was this morning. I argued about who would write her next with Fred, in front of Clara. We made writing to mum feel like a chore, when she would give anything to write to hers.
We're some bloody sods.
"Do you want to tell us more about her?" I ask.
The ends of her lips curl into a smile and she says, "maybe anothe time. I think if I didn't right now it'd just be too hard."
"You've gotta tell us stuff like this," Fred says. "George doesn't speak girl well, so you've kind of gotta spell it's out for him when you're upset."
I roll my eyes at that tosspot, "Fred over here didn't even notice you were upset!"
"I'll work on it," she tells Fred with a dramatic sigh.
She says that, but she probably won't. The next time she's upset she'll probably try to push it down, keep it to herself so that everyone will see her as the brave soul that she is. So I make a mental note to myself: the easiest way to get her to talk is to give her some sweets.