marmalade → g. weasley

twenty three

At the Gryffindor table, her friends were huddled over a copy, the pink and pastel blue cover glittering up at her: The Quibbler. 

"Ang?" Her stomach was twisting uncomfortably, they looked up at her - Elin's bright blue eyes were wide as dinner plates. "What is that?" 

There was a painfully long silence. Angelina stretched her arm out, offering Marigold the newspaper. It was open on a page and she looked down at it, frowning curiously. 

"HARRY POTTER SPEAKS OUT AT LAST: THE TRUTH ABOUT HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED AND THE NIGHT I SAW HIM RETURN. Turn to page 3 for the exclusive article by Rita Skeeter. "

Her breath caught in her throat and her blood turned to ice in her veins. 

As a general rule, Marigold had forbade herself from ever searching to learn the real details of how Cedric was killed, but there they stared up at her in black and white. Begging to be read. Before she could stop for even a moment to reconsider, her eyes began to chase down the length of the article: 

"According to Potter, both he and Diggory reached the cup at the same time."

""Cedric and I were transported to a graveyard," says Potter."

""I saw a flash of green light and Cedric fell to the ground. And I knew he was dead.""

By the time she'd reached the last line, the newspaper was trembling in Marigold's hands. 

The inside of her brain sounded like every shelf in a china shop being torn down by a violently screaming eight-year old. She couldn't feel her legs. 

The paper tore quietly from the force of her grip. Marigold's gaze lifted to meet Angelina, who was watching her - sympathy flooding her eyes. 

"Well," her voice shook. "Now we know."  

Her mind spun like an out-of-control carousel, the whole story in Harry Potter's own words. A graveyard, a handless man, a voice, a green light. Kill the spare. 

A warm hand met her shoulder, "Goldie," the voice was soft, it was Elin. When Marigold looked up, Elin's eyes were watery. "We have Umbridge now. Class is starting in three minutes, we have to go." 

Marigold nodded unspeaking, she allowed an empty smile to grace her features. Diego lifted the newspaper gently from between her fingers. 

Across the castle, George had broken into a brisk jog towards Umbridge's classroom on the South corridor. Despite Fred having come in twice to warn him to get up, he'd still overslept. George had been doodling package designs for Weasley Wizard Wheezes until the early hours of the morning, it had become the preferred alternative to tossing and turning with the image of Zach kissing Marigold against the grimy alleyway wall in Hogsmeade keeping him up as it had been for nearly two weeks. 

He wouldn't have felt an even slight sense of urgency to rush if he hadn't remembered that Defense Against The Dark Arts was his first class. Shit. Marigold sat one desk away from him in Umbridge's class. 

Students moved aside as George rushed past, his towering height had it's advantages. He stopped momentarily outside the entrance of the Great Hall to catch his breath. Nope, he thought, no time for breakfast. 

A rush of relief washed over him when he turned the corner into the south corridor and noticed students still idling outside the door to Umbridge's class. She must not have arrived yet. Amongst the students was Fred and Lee, they were sharing what George figured to be a magazine or newspaper. 

He closed the space between them, leaning against his knees for stabilisation and huffing loudly. "Merlin's beard, I wish I'd actually run those laps Ang asked us to do at practice." George frowned when neither of them reacted to him.