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iv. FOUR
HERE LIES MELORA
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MELORA NEVER WISHED PAIN UPON THOSE WHOM SHE DETESTED. She may have desired some form of it when she was eleven, but since entering her seventh year at Hogwarts, she could barely remember what it was like to feel the old want. And to see both of the twins and Harry Potter look so utterly destroyed after their recent Quidditch match also somehow managed to hurt her.
It was another Defence Against the Dark Arts class, first thing in the morning. And to be exact, it was the only lesson that Melora shared seated next to George. On any other day, she would have been fine with sitting beside him. But on that particular day, the two were not on great terms with one another.
After having his ability to play Quidditch stripped from him permanently, George was in a foul mood. Not least of which because he was then forced to spend an entire lesson beside the cousin of the spoilt git who had gotten him banned, who appeared to be a favourite student of Umbridge's. She knew how frustrated he was to now be sat beside her, especially since he'd been moved there against his own will.
Directly in front of them sat two of Melora's other friends: Graham Montague - her Quidditch captain - and Ruth Prescott. And once she'd realised what position George was in, Prescott took full advantage of it and seized the chance to mock him. Of course, this was not a rare thing for the girl to do, since she would quite often bully younger students into doing her homework for her, or sometimes force others to take the blame for things that she had so obviously done, so that she could escape detentions.
"How's your face holding up, Weasley?" she sneered, her voice snarling and sarcastic as she grinned, watching when George's hand rose up to his swollen lip. He glowered at her as she continued to speak. "It must get so embarrassing for you. I mean, Malfoy's not even sixteen yet and he still managed to make a complete fool of you."
"Yet he wound up with several bruises of his own and enough tears to fill a second Blake Lake," George snapped back. "It was his fault that anything even happened. But Umbridge loves your house. She's doing anything to give you all credit."
"And you think that that's an issue? I mean, it's not like Dumbledore does the exact same thing to Gryffindor, or anything. So, it's only fair if we get the same treatment, don't you think?" Prescott smirked, earning praise from Montague beside her, who was also struggling to contain the sniggers that he was responding with.
Melora shook her head at the two in front of her, silently warning them to fall quiet. They looked rather miserable as they turned back around, sulking like small children as their entertainment for the lesson was cut short. But the girl who had put an end to their taunts and jeers had not done it out of sympathy for George, and had not done it because it was disconcerting to her. In fact, she had been saving each of their skins from Umbridge, who came strutting in between desks, suspiciously eyeing each and every student as she did so. Speaking whilst in her classroom proved to be an effortless move, especially when comparing her to Professor Moody from their previous year. Or, if she were to be accurate - Barty Crouch Jr.
And it was when the woman was not looking over her way, or in earshot of her voice, that Melora spoke. She didn't want to exchange any conversation with either of her friends at that moment in time, and so she was left to desperately hope that neither Prescott nor Montague would hear her talking behind them. After all, it was George Weasley whom she had chosen to speak with, instead of them: her classmates, her housemates and her friends.
"I'm sorry about her," she said quietly, her eyes darting about between people to make sure that the conversation remained unnoticed. Eventually, they found their way over to George's, and she smiled weakly. "And sorry about Draco."
"You're apologising for something?" George asked, surprised. But he shrugged afterwards, laughing lightly. "You shouldn't."
It then became clear to her that he did not wish to speak any more over the matter. She could understand him. If anyone were to take away her Quidditch title for something that was not her fault, she would also resemble the same furious attitude.
Despite her best efforts to put an end to his misery, the boy would not smile. She partially blamed Prescott for her snarky attitude and unnecessary comments, but she knew that he was mainly frustrated over the fact that Umbridge had - once again - put her condescending ways to use. And she didn't blame him for feeling so defeated.
And whilst the moment in which she chose to perform such a prank wasn't the most appropriate, both she and George would come to find it amusing later on in the year. For as he went to reach for his quill in order to begin an essay for their Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, she uttered a jinx under her breath. A proud grin crept its way onto her face as she watched the scene begin.
The first time he reached for the quill, he missed it (obviously; she'd jinxed it to move). It was as he looked over to where his hand actually was that the amusement arrived. He made to grab what he wanted to write with, and he then scowled as it moved away from him. Several times, he repeated this, until eventually he looked over at Melora.
"What have you done?" he hissed at her, now cautious that Umbridge would come to realise he had not started his work if she came anywhere near to them. "She's going to kill me if she knows I haven't written anything!"
"I don't know what you're talking about, Weasley," Melora said, concealing her smirk well when she spoke. "You should start your essay. We really don't have very long to write them."
George grumbled something inaudible to himself, before reaching for his quill once more. But no matter how many times he attempted to start his essay, the time would not come in which he could actually do so. It was a first to see George Weasley actually trying to write an essay in class. Or, to be more precise, trying to write one at all.
For roughly twenty minutes, this small exercise in which Melora had smartly set up, repeated itself over and over. He wasn't brave enough to try and get given any help from Umbridge, and so he simply spend the remainder of the lesson doing the same action over and over, even though it had proven to be pointless so long ago. It was when the final five minute mark came, that Melora stepped in.
She lifted the jinx, and as the quill finally became trapped in George's grip, she went and placed another one on it. But, as an end to her games, it was one that became more beneficial to George than it did to her. She watched, as his quill then practically leapt from his hand, and began scribbling down a perfect answer to the essay question. It was cheating, she knew, but it was a way to requite what she had done.
George Weasley stared, rather dazed, at his work, as his quill then clattered down on the desk, finished. His eyes scanned through the words once his brain had successfully managed to function again, before turning to Melora.
"Did you see-?"
"Did I see Umbridge walking over to us, aware that we're holding conversation when we shouldn't be? Yes, I did," Melora nodded. "Hello, Professor."
"Mr Weasley and Miss Lestrange, I do believe that I asked for this work to be completed in silence. Did you listen to that part, or were you too busy talking?" she asked, the same sickly-sweet smile plastered onto her face as she spoke. "Shall I only read one of your essays? Will that save me some time? Perhaps then I can schedule you both a detention."
"I don't think that would be necessary, Professor Umbridge," Melora replied, her tone quite smug as she spoke back to their professor. "The purpose of the essay was to state our opinion on the Unforgivable Curses and when it would be deemed appropriate to use them, if at all. I very much doubt that I would share the same opinion on such spells as George Weasley."
The teacher before them inhaled sharply and tilted her chin upwards, not expecting such a fast response from a student. George smirked beside her, and they exchanged triumphant grins as the woman turned her back on them and moved back to the front of the class. They were all dismissed, with Melora and George narrowly escaping detention.
"So, here lies Melora Lestrange: a pure-blood witch who wanted no relation to any blood traitor, Muggle or Mudblood, whatsoever," Ilia said as they left the classroom together. "Oh, and here is her replacement: an exact replica, who then suddenly speaks to a Weasley and nearly gets a detention with him. Um, hello? What happened to you over summer?"
"Nothing," she said honestly. "But targeting Umbridge is fairly entertaining, don't you think?"
"I think killing her would be pretty entertaining too," Ilia muttered, which caused Melora to snigger. The girl only shrugged in response. "I'm not the only one who thinks that - trust me."
She couldn't help but notice George then walk down the hallway, expressing to his twin how he could not pick up his quill, no matter what he did, and then it suddenly proceeded to write the answers for him in the final few minutes of the class. Fred looked as equally confused as George, and for the first time, Melora felt as though she had won against them. If a Quidditch match didn't work, then perhaps she could beat them at their own game of pranks.