"Is she all right?" Will asked, shoveling a spoonful of stew into his mouth. "She's been awfully quiet the past few weeks."
John shrugged. "She barely even talks to me anymore. I think she's shutting everybody out after what happened with her dad... I don't know what to do."
"Well, have you tried talking to her?" Halia suggested as if it were obvious.
"I need to give her space," John replied, shaking his head.
The Hufflepuff girl sighed. "I think a few weeks has been enough space, hasn't it? She needs somebody to talk to."
John glanced over his shoulder to where Arabella sat alone, reading. "She's never been like this before."
"Then help her," Will urged. "She's your girlfriend."
Taking a deep breath, John rose and seated himself next to her. She didn't even look up at him or acknowledge his presence.
"Hi," he said quietly.
"Hello," Arabella replied distantly.
John coughed, unsure of which question to ask first. "Er... how are you? How've you been?"
"Fine," she said automatically.
He looked at her skeptically, not wanting to pry any further but also wanting the whole, complete truth from her.
She closed her book suddenly, shifting in her seat to face him. Unable to look him in the eyes, she stared down at her hands, which were twisting nervously in her lap.
"To be honest," Arabella began softly, "not all that great."
John's shoulders relaxed as he reached for one of her hands, clasping it tightly in his own. "You can tell me anything, you know that?"
She nodded, biting her quivering lip. "I just -- oh, John, I wish there was something I could do! -- it's everything. Everything's falling apart, and I don't know what to do."
He embraced her for the first time in what felt like years, letting her familiar scent of vanilla and sweet apples fill his lungs.
"I'm so sorry that I didn't try to talk to you," John said. "I-I should have been there for you, Ara, and I wasn't, and I'm really sorry. Oh, God, I'm a bloody idiot."
She laughed, causing tears to roll down her cheeks. "But you're my bloody idiot."
In that instant, everything seemed a little better. The candles glowed brighter, the room grew warmer, and nothing seemed quite so bad after all.
And then the post arrived, with a large snowy owl delivering a blood red envelope to Abraxas Malfoy.
His pale face drained of colour, leaving it even whiter than it usually was. Arabella decided that her day was already much better, if possible.
"Oh, Merlin," Penny Gregors murmured under her breath. "He'd better open that."
Bracing himself for the magnified shouting that was about to burst everyone's ear drums, Malfoy delicately opened the Howler, as if that would prevent it from devouring him alive.
"Abraxas Lucius Malfoy!" a woman's shrill voice screeched. "How dare you attempt to curse another student! It just had to be a Prefect, didn't it?"
John quirked an eyebrow at Arabella, who smiled shyly back at him.
"Your father is livid, and you are not allowed home for Christmas or Easter! We've also already informed Professor Slughorn that you are not to be taken to Hogsmeade under any circumstances whatsoever, and several of your teachers have agreed to watch you closely and make sure that you do not tarnish the Malfoy name any further! Even your little sister is disappointed in you!"
The letter proceeded to shred itself into hundreds of pieces, which then combusted into a small fire at the Slytherin table.
"I think that's the most colourful his face has ever been," Arabella commented to every Gryffindor's amusement.
A few minutes passed by as they always did at breakfast, with chatter and laughter ringing from every table, until the candles floating above everyone's heads flickered ominously.
John immediately reached for his girlfriend's hand, his other hand gripping tightly into his wand.
"Oi! What was that?" someone shouted just as darkness enveloped the Great Hall entirely.
Several screams sounded, mostly from first-years -- but Arabella swore she saw Orion Black let out a cry of fear, painting a satisfied smirk across her face despite the chaos.
There was a pounding sound, followed by Headmaster Dippet calling for order. "Silence!"
He then attempted to relight the candles overhead, but it was almost as if they were snuffed out for good.
"Remain calm," Dippet's thundering voice advised. "Do not move, and allow the Prefects to keep you at your House table."
Arabella turned to John, her eyes adjusting slightly in the pitch black. "What do we do?"
"I don't know," he replied. "Shame the sun isn't out; we could really use it today."
As if he had been heard, a great white light shot towards the ceiling from the tip of Professor Dumbledore's wand, which he then tucked into his pale green robes with a knowing smile.
"Thank you, Professor Dumbledore," Dippet said in a low voice before facing the shaken students. "I have just been informed by the caretaker that all the lights are out in the castle. Classes are cancelled for today, and you are to return to you comm--"
A single, piercing scream shook the Great Hall, keeping everyone frozen in their steps as it echoed off the stone walls and floor. By squinting her eyes, Arabella could just barely make out a pale blue light pulsing feebly from behind Dippet, growing stronger and stronger as the dead silence stretched even longer.
The aura became blindingly bright, looking almost like a ball of cobalt fire. It rose high into the air, where the darkened candles floated still, slowly thinning into an eerie blue mist. A dry, grating voice filled the room, its vibrations shaking the plates on the tables.
"Four becomes three when the truth is set free,
'Tis friend against foe and friend against friend
To settle the story and let all be
Torn from heart's strong wall, fatal call shall mend.
From the depths of Darkness shines softest Light
And from palest white comes the deepest black,
Stars tear asunder at cold-blooded flight
Away from all bright and into attack.
Just as the moon shines in dark seas of cloud,
All shall bear witness to the rise of Life,
Hidden by true lies and old man Death's shroud
Where first flame flickers and rekindles strife."
There was a slight pause following the last word, after which the blue light disappeared and a harsh crash sounded. The candles relit themselves, casting light on a most gruesome scene: Professor Trevil, with blood flowing freely from her nostrils and staining her unruly white hair, spreadeagled on the Ravenclaw table.
\\
Yes, another update. I just get so excited after I finish writing a chapter that I have to post it. Hope you don't mind.
What do you think this prophecy means? I'm curious what all of you make of Professor Trevil's little sonnet.
Today's Question: Where are you from?
In case you wanted to know (which you probably didn't), I'm Hungarian-Canadian but American born, with a lot of extra stuff like Slovakian and English, Scottish, German, Irish, etc.
Sadly, it's back to school for me as of next week, so there will be less frequent updating (unless I pull an all-nighter or two instead of studying, which is very likely). Hope you enjoy what I've written so far! Vote and comment if you do, and I'm super sorry for the long author's note but I really appreciate you guys so much! Thanks for everything :]
-o