Starlit Death ✹ harry potter *EDITING*

𝟬𝟬𝟲. 'tis the season

   It was late, the glistening constellations settled themselves comfortably in the inky sky, emitting a glow of faint silver across the grounds of Hogwarts that went on for acres. Mumbling the answer to the riddle, Ascella tentatively stepped into the Ravenclaw Common Room, her vision instantly turning cobalt. Rickety bookcases held various books with tea-stained pages, old stories written within them, desperate to be read. A few students lingered, some finishing off work, whilst others quietly read or chatted amongst one another, a small fire, charmed a sharp blue shade, blazed brightly.

   Ascella headed up the stairs to the girls dormitories, knocking lightly once she reached the door for the third-year girls room. The door swung open, a flustered Estelle Sinclair revealed on the other side, her warm eyes wide with shock. Her brunette ringlets were tied into a bun at the nape of her neck, a few curls framing her sculptured face. A Ravenclaw jumper hung loosely from her frame, a small pair of baby-pink shorts just noticeable beneath her knitted jumper, fluffy socks resting on her feet.

   "Ascella?" Estelle asked, her velvet voice quiet in attempt to not wake the other girls in the room. "What're you doing here?"

   Ascella sheepishly glanced down, fiddling with her fingers, picking at the pastel purple nail polish Hermione had applied the week before. "Can I stay here tonight?"

   Estelle's hazel eyes softened, and she opened the door wider, stepping out of the way slightly, "Course you can."

   Merely ten minutes later, Ascella laid next to Estelle, her pale blue, unruly curls tickling Estelle's chin. Estelle had kindly given Ascella clothes to change into, another jumper with an eagle emblem stitched onto it that instantly warmed Ascella's ice cold body. Ascella winced when she caught her appearance in the mirror, she looked ( in simpler terms ) dead. Blue lips, blood-shot eyes that held no emotion — just vast emptiness — and her skin almost as white as the snow that coated the grounds. She thought how much she must of terrified Estelle when she appeared outside of the dormitories, looking as ghastly as she had.

   "What happened, Ella?" Estelle queried into the darkness, her fingers tangled in Ascella's hair, the way Ascella's had been in her hair not too long ago. "You don't have to tell me, if you don't want to."

   Ascella sighed, and turned slightly, her tired eyes meeting Estelle's, "It's just Harry. He said some . . . not very nice things."

   "Like what?" pressed Estelle, not wanting to come across insensitive, but she couldn't but be curious. Harry Potter and Ascella Black were two peas in a pod, one hardly seen without the other. It was unusual, for the both of them not to be on speaking terms with each other, and it intrigued Estelle as to why that was.

   Ascella proceeded to tell Estelle of the disastrous afternoon, trusting the Ravenclaw witch to not spill to anyone about the existence of the Marauders Map. Reliving the situation, Ascella thought, felt like a heavy weight was being pressed onto her chest, restricting her breathing and crushing her lungs. She loathed the thought of retelling the harsh and cruel interaction her and Harry had, but she wanted — no, needed to tell someone what had occurred.

   "That's horrible," Estelle sympathised with a small gasp, her dainty fingers rubbing small circles into Ascella's shoulders. "But, you know, Harry's just angry, Elle, he doesn't really mean it. I see the way he looks at you, like your the only thing that matters to him. He'll get over his anger — he probably already has, if I'm honest  — and you'll go back to being the best of friends."