────── 〔✿〕──────
xix. NINETEEN
WEASLEY'S FAREWELL
────── 〔✿〕──────
SHE'D FINALLY BEGUN TO ACT LIKE HER MOTHER. There were more than a few people who would appreciate this, yet considerably more who would be horrified. It was exactly as the population had wondered, perhaps even feared, once they were made aware of her birth. It was precisely as her parents had envisioned for her, and she'd be gutted if she were then to discover that they were not fond of her choices.
Choices was putting it lightly, she'd told herself whenever she'd thought about it (which was often enough, it was difficult to forget that she was representing a criminal). You were born into it, Melora. You didn't choose to feel anything.
And whilst people repeatedly told her that she could be whoever she wanted to, or that she was free to act how she desired. She didn't have to follow her mother around like a lost puppy. She wasn't a defenseless puppet; she wasn't being controlled. And Melora had believed all that was said, childishly and innocently. For roughly seven years, she'd trusted people, and bought their lies.
She wanted to act on her own accord. It wasn't a desire of hers to be shoved around, with no ability to speak for herself. Yet, somehow, if she were forced into the Dark Arts, it would not come across as her being 'evil' to join the ranks. She wouldn't be viewed as weak by her peers, or those whom she surrounded herself with, yet she wouldn't be seen as a completely dark witch.
Then, she wanted to know why she felt pleased to imagine that Ruth Prescott was suffering. Why could she not prevent the grin that emerged on her face when she thought of her old friend drawing blood from her own hand and writing with it? In what world was that deemed morally OK? There wasn't one. And she knew it.
"Look, you said it yourself, Slytherins are just born into worlds in which we grow to tolerate more pain," Ilia shrugged the following day when Melora had tried to explain herself in the most sane way possible. "Maybe you're just someone who-"
"-likes inflicting pain on others," Melora waved her hand after Ilia had paused for a while. "I give up, Ilia. I feel like I'm going insane, and I've only met my mother once."
"You're not insane though," Ilia said, sighing. "I mean, if I saw Prescott in pain, I would probably smile too. She deserves it, after everything, doesn't she? You're not at all similar your mother."
But she wasn't convinced.
Ilia gave her a funny look. "Melora, how can you be remotely close in resemblance to your mother if you speak to a Weasley regularly, and manage to enjoy his company? And not to mention be fully supportive of your friend, who's broken literally every rule your family's ever created? Bellatrix would rather die than let that happen to herself."
Melora couldn't stop herself from smiling at this. She was glad, if anything, that she had Ilia with her. Whilst the spark of their friendship had been caused by her young and pathetic, snappy attitude, it was just as well. Without Ilia Nyxeris, she had no clue what she'd be doing, or even why.
"Isn't Malfoy doing some sort of essay for Umbridge right now?" Ilia asked after the two had wandered out to the Entrance Courtyard to grab some fresh air. It was mostly empty, other than the odd few sixth-yers; none of the seventh-years actually had the time to walk around (Melora and Ilia still weren't allowed to study in the library, even with their N.E.W.T.s closing in on them), and the other students were all in classes. Melora nodded in response, and Ilia laughed. "Poor him. I'm so glad we're leaving this year."
Melora glanced over at her, to watch her lay down on a bench and rest the back of her hand over her eyes. She shrugged. "Not that Umbridge will stay on to teach next year. It's Potter's special curse, isn't it?"
"Potter's bloody brillant curse, I'd say," Ilia sniggered. "I'll be waving goodbye to her very enthusiastically, when they day comes around."
The truth was that Melora was horrible at saying her goodbyes. It was probably best that her parents were taken when she was so young and hardly knew them, because it could have become very awkward and embarrassing, had she been older. No doubt, they would have mocked her for being emotional. And then, selfish, over-emotional her, would have sent them away, feeling as though they'd plainly welcomed a weak and cowardly child into their world. So yeah, Melora largely preferred the way her life had actually turned out, to the ways it could have done.
Ruth Prescott then almost strutted across the courtyard before them, with no one in tow. It was surprising to see that she was alone, given that she'd constantly been on about the Slytherins who supported her views on blood purity and how Melora was abusing her power, for the past few months. She had to suppress her laughter until after the girl was out of her eyesight, by which point her eyes were already brimming with tears.
Ilia was in a similar state, when Melora eventually managed to look over at her. It wasn't because she'd been walking funny, or because she'd looked odd. It was plainly the fact that Ruth Prescott's plan had backfired on her, and yet she was still attempting to snatch the crown that she had imagined to rest proudly on Melora's head.
"I wonder what her detention with Snape will be like," Ilia said once the girl was out of eyesight (and earshot, more to the point). "I still panic that they'll find out it was us."
Melora shot her a look that told her to shut up, before shaking her head. "They won't. Now, what did you say you wanted to study?"
"I said I wanted to study?" Ilia blinked.
Melora hit her friend on the leg, sending her a look that hinted at what she was doing. Ilia caught on a moment later, and nodded.
"I think it was Potions, actually," she said quickly.
Melora let her head fall into her hands in disappointment. The point was to steer away from Potions, in case there's someone nearby who hears about us being the people who made the Veritaserum. But she shook her head, and asked what exactly her friend wanted to know. Perhaps, they could still manage to act out the innocent roles, just with a much higher risk of messing up.
"I've forgotten the ingredients to the Wideye Potion, do you know them?" she said, and Melora felt a sudden rush of relief as her friend spoke.
"Yeah: 2 sprigs of Wolfsbane, 6 sna-"
There was a sudden deafening bang that sounded from inside the castle. Melora and Ilia exchanged shocked looks, before peering over at the doors that led to the inside of Hogwarts, expecting something else to happen. Nothing came. No noise, no people emerging. Nothing happened.
Neither of them quite wanted to speak, but when Ilia eventually did, it proved to be a mistake. "What the bloody hell was th-"
More explosions sounded from inside of the castle, almost all at the same time, and Ilia managed to scream. Melora laughed at her, but it was more to calm her own nerves than because she wanted to mock the other girl's cowardly response.
And then, rather abruptly, two specs shot out from the hallway and out of the door, and were followed by masses of people. It seemed as though the entire school had gathered in the courtyard that had been so quiet only moments before. Melora glanced over at what had flown out of the castle, and gaped as she realised who it was.
George Weasley sped away from her and Hogwarts in a second.
To tell the truth, it was more George Weasley who was confusing her than anything else. He was strange to her. She knew that she should never have spoken to him in their first class together that year. But she had. Now, she had wound herself up in something that had no pleasant outcome. She wanted to forget about him badly, but he seemed to be the only sane person around her. There was also Ilia, of course, but she wanted to surround herself with more than just her (however brilliant she was).
But if she didn't forget about him, she risked getting caught. And what if her mother found out? She would be killed in a second, most likely. Or not. She would probably get tortured into killing George. She felt sick to her stomach just thinking about it.
Her choices were narrowed down to these: either she forgot about George and went insane, killing innocent people left and right and probably joining her parents back in Azkaban... or she risked death herself.
The crowds that were chasing the twins stopped when they reached her, still cheering and applauding as the twins left the school. Melora watched, neither cheering nor clapping, as he disappeared into the sky. Umbridge was nowhere to be seen - and neither were any other professors - but the students were ecstatic.
She wasn't near anyone she knew that would have any idea as to what was happening, so instead, she turned to the nearest person. He looked back at her slightly fearfully and she turned around to him.
"What's going on?" she asked.
"Well, Fred and George set off a load of fireworks, and er-" he paused, looking around to check that he was not about to get humiliated, "-well, they did it rather spectacularly. I think people will remember it for a long time."
Melora nodded, before scanning the skies one more time for any sign of the twins, but she couldn't see them at all. The crowds were hushing now, as it seemed as though they had just left the school. But several explosions later, and the once empty sky had been filled with colours as fireworks decorated the blue.
A large, orange 'W' filled the sky, and Melora found herself grinning as she watched the twins circle the skies on their brooms. She should have been feeling angry; they had disrupted Umbridge's lesson, and she was supposed to support the woman. But she was oddly feeling joy and she watched them have their fun.
Nonetheless, she had decided that enough was enough. Even if everyone else had been laughing and cheering, she had wanted to step away from the moment. She was nearing the doors to the castle when another person grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back. She tried to shrug them away, but they persisted and turned her around. Her anger fell at the sight of them.
"Come on, you really think you're leaving?" he laughed, causing her to smile. "I think we should bid each other farewell properly, don't you?"
"You're so persistent," Melora tutted at him.
"Well, thank you, but I prefer ambitious," he replied, smirking as she frowned at him.
Melora raised her eyebrows. "Ambitious? If anything, I would call you brave. Very, very brave." George then looked very smug for a moment, but Melora continued. "Oh, and cocky."
"Now, look, don't get bitter with me, Lestrange," he said warningly, but his sarcasm was clear.
"Oh, lay it off," she smirked, watching as George laughed at her. "Have a good Easter, Weasley."
She had been expecting a gasp and a smart response, or even perhaps anger if he couldn't tell that she was joking - her humour hadn't exactly been around for long. But George only shook his head at her.
"Don't be mean, Melora. If I remember correctly, I've brightened up your final year, haven't I?" he smirked. "Now isn't that something to praise me for?"
"Oh, my hero," she returned, raising a hand to her forehead and sighing. She laughed lightly, before turning away from the Gryffindor boy and walking off.
Crying was not a common thing to happen to Melora, and as she felt the emotion welling up inside of her, she excused herself from the courtyard, and began her sprint back to the common room. It wasn't necessarily knowing that George was leaving that made her upset, it was more the fact that everything horrible was starting to happen to her now.
And everything was not good.