The Potter Twins and the Deathly Hallows {7}

1. In Memoriam

"He could make you see the way the world could be, in spite of the way that it is." - Road to Hell, Hadestown

"Shit!"

The sound of Harry's pain-filled curse makes me jump; I look up from my trunk with a start, knocking the cup of tea to my left and spilling it all over my lap. "Oh, bloody hell!" I wretch my jacket off and soak up the remaining tea, cursing all the while and watching as Harry shoulders our bedroom door open, clutching a bleeding hand. As soon as the door opens there is the crunch of breaking china, followed immediately by the sound of an irritated Harry.

"What the --?"

I throw my tea-stained jacket to the side, vaguely aware of Harry's shouted complaints from the bathroom, and turn my attention to the collection of nick-nacks to my left, caught in the crossfire of the spilt tea; an old Sneakoscope, an Irish flag from the Quidditch World Cup, and finally a tattered piece of parchment, whose handwriting hidden within struck my heart so intensely I could not read it's contents. I unfold it carefully, the parchment translucent and the words running, barely legible; I make out the words so, would you please give me the pleasure of being my girlfriend? Draco Malfoy before they are gone forever. 

Harry returns, slamming the bedroom door behind him, and I crumple the soaking parchment in my hand without a second thought. "Shame,"  I say, grinning at him, "I think you just alerted every Death Eater in England to our location with that display."

He feigns a scowl and casts a look back at the door briefly. "I think Dudley's booby-trapped the house, be careful."

We've spent the morning completely emptying our school trunks for the first time since we packed them six years ago. At the start of each intervening year, we had simply skimmed off the topmost three-quarters of the contents and replaced and updated them, leaving a general layer of debris at the bottom - old quills, single socks that no longer fit, and old love letters. Harry must have cut himself on something hidden in his trunk's depths, and he appears now to be going about the task with much more caution. 

He scoffs suddenly. "Haylee, look at this."

He tosses something small in my direction, and upon further inspection I recognize it to be an old badge that flickers feebly between SUPPORT CEDRIC DIGGORY and THE POTTERS SINK. I can't help but laugh, remembering a baby faced Draco wearing this proudly on his robes. 

I continue digging through my trunk: an empty bottle of the Draught of Peace, the charm bracelet Draco had gifted me during the Yule Ball buried at the very bottom, beside a gold locket inside which a note signed R.A.B has been hidden. 

It takes another hour to empty them completely, throw away the useless items, and sort the remainder into piles according to whether or not we will need them from now on. Our school and Quidditch robes, cauldrons, parchment, quills, and most of our textbooks are in the corner, to be left behind. I wonder what our aunt and uncle will do with them; burn them in the dead of the night, probably, as if they are evidence of some dreadful crime. Our Muggle clothes, Invisibility Cloak, potion-making kit, certain books, and wands have been packed into separate rucksacks; in the front pocket of mine are the Marauder's Map and the locket, given this place of honour not because it is valuable - it's basically worthless - but because of what it had cost to attain it. 

This leaves a sizable stack of newspapers sitting on our desk beside our snowy owl, Hedwig: one for each of the days Harry and I have spent at Privet Drive this summer. 

I get up off the floor, stretch, and move across to our desk. Hedwig does not move as I begin to flick through the newspapers, throwing them onto the rubbish pile one by one. The owl is asleep, or else faking; she's angry with us about the limited amount of time she is allowed out of her cage at the moment.