Eyes Open by: orphan_account

XVI. The Fifth Grey

June 26 th , 1994

Though the sun is shining and the goblets are gold and the grass is a beautiful shade of green in the courtyards, everything looks grey to him. Grey and bleak. Empty. Colourless.

Diggory's gone, and Voldemort's back.

Voldemort is back, and he and his parents are fucked. Screwed. Done for. Labelled as spineless failures that didn't even look for the Dark Lord upon his disappearance. They are lucky that his father has received a new assignment. It's another chance for the Malfoys.

He's thinking about this when Granger corners him one last time, backing him into an alcove two hallways away from the entrance of the Great Hall. Her face is grim and sad as she pulls that bloody envelope from her robes.

"It's probably not worth much anymore, but I think you should have it anyway," she says.

Later, he will blame it on the distractions of Voldemort, and of death, and of the grey, because he's let the envelope fall into his open palm. It's heavier, thicker than he expects. He feels his fingers close inexplicably around it.

If she's surprised, she doesn't show it.

"You know the rules, don't you?"

How could he not, after she practically shoved them down his throat that first time?

"Only for when I'm at my lowest point," he says; his reply, automatic and his voice, monotone. "And after I open it, I go straight to you."

"You don't have to do that last bit," she tells him, and the look on her face is something he's never seen before. He's seen her face twisted in anger, gleaming with amusement, and once, just a few months ago, shining with tears. But this is something new, something unfamiliar. Sad. Regretful.

"You don't have to find me after you've opened it," she tells him. "Not anymore. But keep it—you may find yourself needing it."