Before her senses came even nearly into full consciousness, Marigold could hear the voices. They were loud and overlapping and she wished nothing more than for them to stop.
"Look how cute they are!" The squeal was sharp and piercing.
"Elin, keep quiet, you're going to wake them."
A deeper voice jumped in, "Well, Ang, they've got to get up sooner or later. Class starts in a half hour."
Once the voices had faded enough for Marigold to ignore them, her mind came to the faint realization of how comfortable she was. How warmth floated off of her in content waves and her head lay so softly against her pillow that she almost slipped back into peaceful sleep again before the mattress shifted below her.
Every muscle in Marigold's body froze, and her mind came to a screeching halt as the memories from the previous night came rolling slowly over her. She allowed her eyes to flutter apart, squinting at the intrusion of the morning light streaming into the common room around them.
Elin, Angelina and Winslow stood staring down at them: all three wearing the largest, slyest grins Marigold had ever seen.
"Good morning, sunshine." Angelina chirped.
Marigold ignored her, instead tilting her head up to meet George's sleeping face.
Somewhere in the night, the two had shifted so that Marigold's head lay against his chest and George had his arm swung around her waist.
Failing to force down a blush, Marigold twisted in George's grip - gently lifting his arm off of her.
"Wha'gwan?" George spilt groggily, it seemed she'd woken him.
"Slept comfortably?" Winslow commented, Marigold had almost forgotten that they were standing there.
The common room was unfortunately busy, students rushing up and down with book bags and swinging cauldrons, it was almost impossible to ignore the side looks they were sending Marigold and George.
She refused to meet George's eyes, instead turning to Elin - ignoring their stares and Winslow's comment - "What's the time?"
Elin glanced down at her wrist watch, "Eight-thirty. Class starts soon, we have Herbology."
Nodding, Marigold stood to stand. "Yeah, let me go shower. Will you fetch me something from breakfast on your way down, please? I won't have time."
Elin nodded, "I'll meet you by the greenhouse."
Once Elin had disappeared beyond the tall oak door of the Hufflepuff common room, Marigold was faced with Angelina.
"What happened to you two last night?"
Marigold looked for the first time up at George, who was rubbing sleep out of his eye with his scarred hand. She could still feel the throbbing in her own hand, she lifted it closer to her face to examine and her throat tightened again: Cedric Diggory was a reckless fool.
She sighed and tilted it up for Winslow and Angelina to see, Angelina gasped and clasped her hand against her mouth. Winslow's eyes widened in shock, before narrowing in anger.
"That fucking bitch." He seethed.
Angelina grabbed her hand and Marigold winced, "How ... how dare she?"
Marigold pulled her hand back, "I don't know, Ang. I don't know."
She could still feel the warmth emanating off of George into her side, she turned to him: reaching for his hand. George let her pick it up, watching her the whole time. Marigold ran her fingers lightly over the words etched into the back of his hand.
"Does yours hurt as much as mine does?"
George nodded, "Like a bitch."
"We have to report this to Dumbledore, Goldie, this is vile, it's disgusting—" Angelina had burst into angry chatter.
"Ang, Dumbledore can't do anything." Marigold stopped her in her tracks, "You and I both know how much control he has over Umbridge. None."
Angelina stared at her, blinking in disbelief. She knew Marigold was right.
Stunned silence fell between them.
Having remained hyper-aware of his warmth at her side, Marigold tilted her head to meet George's gaze. "We should get going."
He nodded, "Probably should. I could use a shower."
"George," Winslow eyed them cheekily, "Remind me again why you slept here last night?"
Marigold blushed and avoided looking either of them in the face.
"I was pretty tired after detention, Goldie said I could crash here instead of walking all the way to the other side of the castle to my room."
George's response was smooth, as they always were.
Angelina folded her arms, "That still doesn't explain why Goldie didn't sleep in her own—"
"Last I checked," Marigold interjected before Angelina could get anything else out, "Neither of you are badgers, so what are you two doing here?"
Grinning at the obvious distraction tactic, Angelina shrugged. "Elin mentioned at breakfast how you two were curled up on the couch like two kitchen mice, so we had to see for ourselves."
Marigold went to stand, immediately missing the warmth against her side: "Yeah, well. Now you've seen."
George stretched his long arms over his head and groaned loudly enough for Marigold to have to force down another blush, "Right, well, I'll catch you guys at lunch."
__________
By the time Marigold had managed to shower, dress into her uniform and sprint all the way across the grounds with her bag flailing excitedly behind her towards Greenhouse Four, she was already ten minutes late to Herbology.
She peeled open the door as quietly as she could, cringing at the way it's hinges squeaked from years of use, and Sprout looked up at her from where she was showing the class the best way to clip the dead leaves of a Shrivelfig.
Marigold uttered a quick "sorry I'm late, professor" and Sprout offered her a short nod in recognition, not pausing in her explanation.
With forty pairs of eyes watching her, Marigold slipped quietly across the room to the seat Elin had spared her between herself and Winslow. Marigold patted the sweat off her forehead and tried to pant quietly, not taking in a word Sprout was spewing until she'd calmed down enough to unpack her books and ink.
The lesson was almost two hours long and even after the first hour, Marigold couldn't help but notice the side glances she was receiving every few moments from the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws that occupied the room.
At first Marigold chalked it up to coming in late, but once nearly two hours had elapsed, she turned to Winslow and whispered, "Win, do I have something on my face?" She stared quizzically at him.
Winslow frowned, looking her up and down, "You don't, why?"
Marigold frowned, meeting the eye of a Ravenclaw girl who quickly looked back down to her page. "People keep looking at me ... maybe I'm imagining it."
Winslow sighed and Marigold immediately met his eyes, "Oh."
"Oh?" She whispered, "Oh, what?"
"Goldie, just about the whole of Hogwarts heard about what happened yesterday ..." He spoke softly, "In Umbridge's class, I mean. The word "emotional breakdown" is being tossed around."
Marigold sat back, stunned. She hadn't forgotten about the events of the previous morning - on the contrary, she hadn't stopped thinking about it - but it hardly crossed her mind that the rest of the student base of Hogwarts would still consider it hot enough a topic for gossip.
"Oh." It was all she could muster to respond. Suddenly, all the gazes that landed on her felt much heavier.
The minutes of class dripped slowly by until the distant ring of the bell from the castle walls alerted the students to begin peeling off their gardening gloves and rinsing their hands in the basins to rid them of mud. Sprout had barely enough time to wish them luck for their test the next day before the students were flooding out the greenhouse towards the castle.
Marigold tossed her bag over her shoulder again, suddenly dreading having to sit in another class while talk of the previous day was apparently still hot on her peers' lips.
Elin took her hand as they neared the door, "People will forget about it in a few days once something new comes up, just let it blow over."
She nodded reluctantly, "I know."
"Ms Knight?" Marigold froze, spinning slowly on her heel to meet Sprout's gaze over the tables of plants, "A word, please?"
She glanced back to Elin and Winslow, who were watching her with sympathetic eyes.
"I'll find you guys later."
They nodded and Marigold heard the greenhouse door shut as she neared Sprout, who wore an unnervingly unreadable expression.
The stout professor pulled out a stool from beneath the bench, "Have a seat, pumpkin."
Marigold climbed onto it quietly, resting her folded hands in her lap.
"I heard about what happened yesterday morning in Professor Umbridge's lesson."
Sprout's look was firm, but not unkind.
"I also ..." the professor leaned back to pick up what Marigold only then recognised as the infamous copy of the Quibbler from the top of her desk. "Read the article."
There was silence for a moment, Marigold avoided her head of house's eyes. "I'm sorry, professor."
To her great surprise, Sprout leaned over to place her hand gently on Marigold's cheek - patting it softly and staining it lightly with soil, "I'm not angry at you, my strawberry."
Marigold met her eyes with a guarded look.
The professor sat back, "On the contrary, I'd be quite impressed by your boldness if I didn't recognise it as an explosion of all the feelings I know you've been hiding deep down in that big heart of yours."
Marigold didn't comment, but it didn't seem that Professor Sprout needed nor expected her to.
"What was the punishment?" Sprout folded her arms, "I'm honestly quite surprised you managed to walk away with your captainship intact. If you'd had lost that I would be quite a greater deal more disappointed."
The professor was right, she was lucky. In certain regards. She glanced down at her hand before lifting it up for Sprout to see her scarred skin. Cedric Diggory was a reckless fool.
"Detention." She said simply.
Sprout's gasp was so loud and choking it made Marigold's heart sink until it lingered at the pit of her stomach. The professor's hands flew up to her mouth in horror, her eyes wide and suddenly pooling again.
A stray tear chased down her cheek and she leaned forward to take Marigold's hand into hers, turning it over quietly. After a long moment of silence, one Marigold suspected Sprout needed to digest the weight of what she was seeing, Sprout spoke again.
"I expect Mr Weasley met a similar fate?"
Marigold nodded, "He shouldn't have gotten himself into trouble. It was stupid of him."
"From what I hear, he was standing up for you."
Allowing a stern look to cross her face, Marigold shook her head. "I can look after myself."
"He cares about you, my peach. Is that such a horrible thing to accept?"
Quiet fell again. Marigold was staring avidly at the tips of her boots, she didn't respond.
Sprout sighed, "You should at least go to the nurse and let her put something on there for you."
"Yes, professor."
Sprout looked her over again, sighing, "Right. Be on your way then, don't want to make you late."
Nodding, Marigold went to stand - slinging her bag over her shoulder. "I'll see you on Thursday, professor."
__________
The Great Hall was buzzing, as it was every night around dinner time.
Marigold tossed her bag down beside her as she fell into an open spot, working hard to ignore the stares of Gryffindors up and down the table.
Angelina glanced up from where she was making notes in her potions textbook, "You alright there, Goldie?"
Shrugging, Marigold scooped a dollop of mashed potato onto her plate, "Shitty day." She mumbled. "You get by okay? How'd your Arithmacy test go?"
"Can't say for sure that I passed, but at least it's behind me."
Marigold nodded, glancing down at her plate again to spoon up some food into her mouth. She sighed, Marigold hadn't realised how hungry she was.
At that moment, a heavy body fell down onto the space beside her and Marigold nearly dropped her fork in fright. She glanced up to meet George's eager face.
"Evening ladies." He quipped, grabbing a sausage with his fingers and shoving it straight into his mouth.
"Hey, Georgie." Angelina nodded to him before diving back into her potions notes.
"Where's everyone?" He mumbled around a mouthful of sausage, glancing up and down the table.
Marigold shrugged, "Dunno." She was still staring dejectedly down at her plate, moving her peas around with her fork.
George eyed her curiously, lifting his hand to rest on her shoulder, "What's the matter, Knight?"
Trying hard not to think about how warm his hand sat against her shoulder, Marigold shook her head. "Nothing."
Frowning, George leaned closer so that only Marigold could hear him speak, "I hope it's not about how everyone's been staring at us all day?" She shivered at the closeness of his voice.
"It might be."
"Well, it could be because of what happened yesterday with Umbridge ... or it could just be that we're both incredibly attractive individuals and people can't keep their eyes off us."He shrugged haughtily and sat back, grinning.
A laugh spilt from Marigold's lips, "You really do have the sharpest tongue of anybody in Hogwarts, you know that?"
George's grin widened, "Maybe one day I'll show you just how talented this tongue really is."
Marigold's face had never turned so red so quickly, and her stomach churned, she punched him hard in the shoulder. "George Weasley, you dog."
He laughed, "You see? You've already forgotten about the whole ordeal, and soon, so will everybody else." His face had turned earnest and Marigold smiled honestly.
"Suppose you're right." She agreed.
"I'm always right." George leaned over for a slice of bread, "Besides, we've got more pressing issues at hand, namely, mine and Freddie's birthday next weekend."
Marigold paused mid-chew, in all the drama of the last few days, she'd just about completely forgotten about the twins' birthday.
"You haven't forgotten, have you?" George watched her from the corner of his eye, slyly.
Marigold shrugged him off, "Of course not."
Unfortunately, Marigold wasn't offered another opportunity to forget about the twins' birthday because every moment she spent with them over the next week, they were obsessing over it.
"We've been planning it forever," Fred boasted in the corridor between classes, "Lee's getting drinks from that same guy he used for Goldie's birthday and there's a place down in Hogsmeade that sells Pixie Dust by the bucketload!"
Even in their last lesson of Potions on Thursday afternoon, while Snape loomed over them, George couldn't hold his tongue about it. "Take this," He whispered while Snape had his back turned to them, slipping a blank, ivory note over the desk towards her, "It's your invitation for tomorrow."
Marigold glanced up from where she was taking notes on the Pepperup Potion Snape was describing, lifting the card into her hand. Her brow cocked in confusion, flipping the card over in her hands. "George. This is a blank piece of parchment."
George looked up, ensuring Snape was still distracted, "It's not blank, smarty-pants. It's enchanted. Tomorrow night at nine, words will appear on the page and tell you where we're hosting. Pretty neat, right?"
Marigold chuckled quietly, "Why can't you just tell me now?"
Smiling deviously, George shrugged. "Where's the fun in that?"
__________
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