vii. pride
The seventh night of the secret meetings is the night of the new moon. They meet in the total darkness of the common room, the fire burnt out.
As they lie in one another's arms, whispering random pieces of their days to one another, they hear a creak, and spring apart. Abruptly, Cho walks down the stairs, her hair shining in the light of Michael's wand.
"Michael?" she asks, yawning. "Where's Mari?"
"Here," Marietta says, guiltily. She sends a look to Michael, sitting at the table nearest the windows, from her spot next to Rowena Ravenclaw.
"What are you doing?" she asks suspiciously, her eyes narrowed.
"Nothing," Marietta says, cursing herself inwardly for her pride. She'd thought they'd never get caught, because Cho sleeps like a rock. She'd believed they were safe, when of course they weren't, and she shouldn't even have been doing such a thing. "Not a thing. I couldn't sleep, so I came down here, and Michael was sitting at the table."
"Yeah, I fell asleep here," he says, faking a yawn.
"Cho…" Marietta starts, putting her hand on her friend's arm.
"Stop mothering me! I don't need your help!"
"Maybe when you stop acting like a child, I'll stop acting like your mother!"
Michael slinks into the corner, his face red, guilty.
"This is ridiculous!" Cho roars. "I know you two have been sneaking around behind my back. Ever since that day you two were sick. How could you do this to me, Mari?" She spins on her heel, runs upstairs.
Marietta collapses, sobbing, in the corner, unsure of her own sanity anymore. How could she have done something like this?
"Marietta," Michael says, rushing over to her and scooping her up. She cries into his shirt, racking sobs that shake both their bodies.
"I'm a shitty best friend. I'm a shitty person! Why do you like me? I'm horrible. I should be murdered for being a shitty best friend!" she says, over and over, and he only hugs her.
"Of course I like you," he tells her, again and again, until she might be convinced. "Of course I do."
When she has calmed down, she stands up, wiping her eyes. "I think I'd better go," she tells him. "But thank you. Whatever happens – thank you."
"Is this the end of us?" he asks as she sets off up the stairs. She turns round on the top step and gives him a little smile, shining in the pool of light from his wand.
"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." And then she's gone, like a puff of smoke.