Hateful Love

Chapter Twenty

NOTE: I do not own any of the ideas or characters expressed in this story (except Cassie Jackson). All of these belong to J.K. Rowling.

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Cassie P.O.V.

I’m lying on my bed, crying completely alone, when an owl taps on my window. The sound doesn’t register; I know everyone else is outside mourning Dumbledore’s death, so I’m not expecting anyone to be back for an hour at the most.

The tapping intensifies, and I sniffle loudly, wiping under my eyes. I sit up and look with red, puffy eyes to the window. Upon recognizing the fact that the creature is an owl, I reluctantly roll off the bed and stumble to the window.

As soon as I lift up the latch, the owl flutters inside and lands comfortably on my bed. I wipe again at my eyes even though I know it’s useless. I don’t think I’ll ever stop crying. I leave the window ajar and step closer to the owl, suspicious of who it could belong to.

The owl offers up its leg, and my mind feels fuzzy as I free the envelope from the clasp. Who could possibly be writing to me now, of all times? Most of the wizarding world is in despair now that Dumbledore’s dead.

I rip it open, some of my tears falling down and hitting the parchment. My fingers shake slightly as I unfold the letter, and the breath catches in my throat as I recognize the handwriting. Draco.

It’s a short, brief message, only three words, but my heart leaps into my throat—this means he’s okay.

The letter simply says, in Draco’s hurried untidy scrawl, It wasn’t me.

To any ordinary person, this would make no sense. However, I know exactly what he means, and my tears instantly stop falling.

Draco didn’t kill Dumbledore; some other Death Eater must have done it for him. I bite my lip to keep from smiling, because really, nothing’s changed. Even though I’m weak with relief that Draco is okay, that he didn’t murder our headmaster, I’m still as upset as I was before. I still won’t see Draco for three months.

I clutch the letter to my chest and take in a shaky breath. Forcing away all thoughts of how much I’ll miss Draco, I give the owl a few pellets out of Cho’s coat pocket—she always has a few for her own barn owl—and lay down on my bed, the owl soaring back out the open window.

The tears are still falling, but it’s not as bad as before. I rub my thumb over the smooth surface of the letter, comforting myself strangely by the thought that Draco touched this same paper not too long ago.

I’m starting to drift off into some sort of sleep when I hear many footsteps entering the common room below. A minute later, the rest of the Ravenclaw sixth years walk into our dormitory. I roll over and see their tear-stained faces, knowing I probably look no different. Luna, Julie, and Cho go straight to their own beds, only offering me a small glance of sympathy before collapsing onto their covers. Katherine walks straight past her own bed, however, and sits down next to me numbly.

She turns her head to look at me, and her red, puffy eyes practically mirror my own. Katherine clutches my hand and whispers softly, “Dumbledore’s dead.”

For a moment, I’m confused. Then I realize she doesn’t know that I knew before hand, that Draco had told me what was going to happen. I look down at my bed sheets, suddenly glad my face is hidden in shadow. After another moment, I ask quietly, “How?”

“No one knows exactly who did it,” Katherine says, sniffling a little. “There are rumors going around that Death Eaters snuck in and killed him. Cassie, it’s awful. Everyone is so upset, McGonagall was crying.”

This surprises me. The thought of McGonagall actually crying seems so unnatural that I can’t even picture it. I rub Katherine’s arm comfortingly and reply gently, “It’s going to be okay.”

Katherine shakes her head, more tears spilling over, but doesn’t try to contradict me. After a few minutes of silence, she asks quietly, “Why were you crying before?”

I take in a big breath of air, my mind frantically trying to think of some excuse. Then I know that no matter how hard I try, I can’t lie to Katherine. I bite my lip and whisper, “It was Draco. He left today, and—I won’t see him until the start of our seventh year.”

Katherine sighs, and I look away, my cheeks burning. I say softly, “It seems silly now, doesn’t it?”

“No,” Katherine says firmly, “it’s not silly. Not to you, anyway. I can tell you really love him.”

If I had not been so drained, so spent, I might have shed a few more tears. But it’s almost as though I’ve become empty these past few hours of relentless crying. I sniffle and nod slightly. “Yeah. Yeah, I really do.”

We sit there together for the longest time afterwards, not really saying anything. Eventually, the sound of Luna’s snores fill the room, breaking the unbearable silence. After another moment, Katherine whispers almost silently, “It feels like everybody’s dying.”

I turn my head to look at her, but she’s not crying anymore. Her face looks grim, so different from her usual, cheerful expression. I give her hand a squeeze and reply confidently, “No one else is going to die.”

Despite what has happened tonight, despite how much everyone has cried, Katherine gives a tiny smirk. I stare at her, perplexed, wondering what on earth could be funny right now. Then she says it, making my insides grown cold with a new kind of worry. “I wouldn’t be so sure. With Dumbledore gone, Hogwarts won’t be safe anymore.”

At the time, I had no idea how right she was.