𝓣𝐡𝐞 𝓒𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝓟𝐢𝐧𝐤
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Edelyn was convinced that no matter how athletic one became, climbing stairs would always feel like a fight for one's life. By the time she reached the top of North Tower, her lungs were screaming and she wondered bitterly if Harry Potter was worth such trouble.
As expected, she found him moping underneath the trapdoor that led to the Divination classroom. Moody bitch, indeed.
"Lyn? What are you—?"
"Ron and Hermione told me what happened," she said, taking a cross-legged seat beside him. "I thought you might like some company and food." She unwrapped the sandwiches and handed one to Harry.
"Oh — erm — thanks."
They ate their sandwiches in silence, both gazing out the window at the castle grounds below. "I can't wait to fly again," Edelyn muttered, fingers absentmindedly playing with the shoelaces of her trainers. "Can't believe it's been a year since we've played Quidditch..." She turned to Harry and frowned in mock concern. "You might have lost your touch by now, oh legendary Seeker."
Harry snorted a laugh. "l bet I'd still beat you in a race."
Edelyn quirked an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"
"Yup," he said, a grin tugging at his lips.
"Alright then," Edelyn challenged. "You. Me. Quidditch pitch. Tomorrow after Herbology, four o'clock sharp. Loser has to polish the other's broom all season."
"You're on."
"You sure you're ready, Potter?"
Harry nudged her in the side and said with a smirk that would have made James Potter proud, "I was born ready, Black."
They shook hands and for the first time since Cedric's death, Edelyn felt like herself again. Unfortunately, such high spirits were short-lived and her Arithmancy lesson with Hermione was succeeded by Defence Against the Dark Arts.
Edelyn knew from the moment Professor Umbridge opened her mouth that she was going to ruin the colour pink for her.
The stout witch spoke to them as if they were six years old and Edelyn could confidently say that it was the dullest Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson she had ever had. Why did you resign, Remus? She thought to herself and reminisced of Grindylows and Red Caps while she read the first chapter of Defensive Magical Theory. She was rubbing her eyes and stifling a yawn when Ron nudged her in the arm. Many heads were now turned and Edelyn followed their gazes to see that Hermione, who was sitting a table away next to Harry, had her hand raised.
"Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?" Professor Umbridge asked.
"Not the chapter, but I have a question about the course aims. They don't mention actually using spells."
"Why, I can't imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to do so, Miss Granger. You surely aren't expecting to be attacked during class?"
"No, but surely the whole point of Defence Against the Dark Arts is to practice defensive spells."
"I'm afraid you're not qualified to decide what the 'whole point' of any class is," said Umbridge, voice as sweet as ever. "Wizards much older and cleverer than you have devised our new program of study. You will be focused on the theory of defensive spells and will be learning in a secure, risk-free way—"
"Oh, no..." Ron groaned to Edelyn as Harry abruptly spoke, "And what use is that? If we're going to be attacked, it won't be in a risk-free way...And what good is theory going to be in the real world?"
Edelyn felt dizzy, neck strained as her eyes snapped back and forth between Harry and Professor Umbridge. For the most part, she thought he was simply itching for detention, but then he spoke words that made the air rip from her lungs.
"So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord, did he?"
There was a collective intake of breath from the class.
Edelyn stared at her desk. She felt as though a knife had just stabbed her hard in the chest, twisting and turning until crimson seeped through her skin, and at the cold words that then tumbled out of Umbridge's mouth, her blood caught on fire.
"Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident."
There was the loud scraping of a chair against the wooden floor beneath and Edelyn leapt to her feet. "How dare you!"
"Miss Black, I understand that this matter is quite sensitive, but the Ministry of Magic has deemed it an a—."
"It wasn't an accident!" she shouted. "It was murder. You-Know-Who killed Cedric and you know it!" Edelyn's eyes narrowed, knuckles white. "Saying anything less is just a disgrace to his memory. The Ministry should be ashamed... Ashamed that they're less brave than a fifteen-year-old boy who already had to face him and fight him. You're all just too cowardly to accept the truth, and it's pathetic."
Her body was shaking in fury. For a moment, Edelyn half expected Umbridge to draw her wand, but instead, she said in her softest, most sweetly girlish voice, "Come here, Miss Black. You too, Mr Potter."
The rest of the class sat at the edge of their seats as Harry and Edelyn made their way up to Umbridge's desk. The Professor pulled out a roll of pink parchment and scribbled something on it with her quill. She then rolled it up and tapped it with her wand to seal it. "Take this to Professor McGonagall, dears," she said, holding out the note to Harry.
Jaw clenched, Harry snatched it from her stubby fingers and he and Edelyn wasted no time in leaving, the latter slamming the door behind them.
"What a foul pink toad..." Ron grumbled under his breath.
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"Detention with Umbridge every evening this week?" By the expression on Ron's face, one would have thought Harry and Edelyn were disguised as Inferi. "Bloody hell..." he mumbled.
The news of their shouting match with Professor Umbridge had travelled exceptionally fast, and they could already hear the gossiping whispers as students filed into the Great Hall for supper. None of these 'whisperers', however, seemed to mind them overhearing what they were saying.
"He says he saw Cedric Diggory murdered..."
"Reckons he duelled with You-Know-Who..."
"Come off it...who does he think he's kidding?"
"Pur-lease..."
"And that Black believes him..."
"Well, insanity runs in families, doesn't it? And you know who her father is..."
"What I don't understand," Harry grumbled angrily, "is why they all believed the story two months ago when Dumbledore told them."
"I'm not sure they did," said Hermione grimly.
"What d'you mean?"
"Look, you don't understand what it was like after it happened," Hermione explained quietly. "We didn't see what went on in the maze. We just saw you appearing in the middle of the lawn clutching..." Her voice trailed off and her eyes flickered to Edelyn. She was fiddling with the golden snitch around her neck, staring absentmindedly at a table which would forever hold an empty seat. Ron and Harry followed Hermione's gaze, and soon enough, all three were anxiously watching Edelyn, half anticipating her to burst into a fit of tears.
But Edelyn had promised herself that morning that there would be no more crying. No more moping. No more wallowing away in her own sorrow. Cedric would have wanted her to be strong, and to Helga's Hippogriff, she wasn't going to let that Umbridge bring her down.
"Tonight's our last evening of freedom this week, Harry," she said, rising to her feet, "and I don't fancy sitting here listening to people talk about how you've gone mad, Dumbledore's senile, and I'm about to have an emotional breakdown."
They looked up at her in surprise.
"Boys, grab your brooms. Hermione, grab a book. We're going to the Quidditch pitch."
Twenty minutes later, Ron found himself hovering in the air on his broom, a streamer of red and gold held in one hand. "Alright," he announced, "three times around the pitch. Whoever grabs this from me at the end of the third round first, wins."
"Sure you want to do this, Black? Not too late to back down."
"And lose the opportunity to kick your arse to Jupiter? Not a chance, Potter."
Ron grinned and shouted, "Three — two — one, GO!"
Harry and Edelyn shot past him in a gust of air, and in an instant, all the heaviness that weighed upon them lifted. Liberation rolled down their spines with the kiss of the fall winds and their lips curled. They were side-by-side — eyes hungry for victory. But Edelyn's Comet 260 had nothing on Harry's Firebolt and on the third round, he sped forward, snatching the flag from Ron in one swift move.
"Oops! Was I supposed to go easier on you, Black?" Harry teased, waving the flag mockingly in front of Edelyn.
Edelyn smirked and with mischief glinting in her eyes, she shot straight toward Harry. After a few zigzags, swerves, and one daring dive, the Chaser seized the flag from the Seeker. "Dear me...it seems that I've still kicked your arse, Potter!"
Harry laughed and watched as Edelyn did a triumphant loop in the air. His heart lifted at the sound of her laugh. A strange something niggled in his stomach, fluttering like the wings of pixies — a something that was startling and exhilarating and at the present moment, far beyond his emotional capacity to understand.
He grinned and leaned forward on his Firebolt, chasing her in the air to tug her ponytail and reclaim his flag.
Detention with Umbridge, however, could not be kept at bay for long. Harry and Edelyn soon found themselves seated at two small tables in Umbridge's office. On each was laid a roll of parchment and a black quill with an unusually sharp point. Edelyn's eyes grew misty from the pain of the punishment. She kept her gaze fixed on the parchment. Again and again, she wrote, « Cedric Diggory's death was an accident », and again and again, the words were cut into the back of her hand.
Darkness fell outside and at half past eleven, Umbridge finally gave a small cough and called them over to her desk.
"Hand, Mr Potter."
Harry extended it and repressed a shudder at her touch.
"Tut, tut, I don't seem to have made much of an impression yet. Nevermind, we have all week." She turned to Edelyn. "Hand, Miss Black." A pink lipsticked simper. "Ah, well, it seems that you, Miss Black, are not as thick-skinned as Mr Potter."
Harry, who was momentarily distracted by a portrait of a cat on the wall, frowned and glanced down, but Edelyn had already pulled down her sleeve.
"I will see you two again tomorrow night. You may go."
The deserted corridor spun. Edelyn felt nauseous, the terrible throb in the back of her hand hammering in her head. "I'll — I'll meet you in the common room," she exhaled hastily. "I — I need a minute alone." Before Harry's brow could so much as crease, she swept away. Rounding a corner, she took no notice of an approaching silhouette and ran straight into it.
"Lynster? What are you—? It's almost mid—!"
But Fred Weasley froze when he saw the crimson stains seep through the hem of her rob sleeves. Grabbing her wrist, he lifted it to see blood trickling from the raw cuts on the back of her right hand. "Edelyn..." he exhaled. "What in Merlin—?"
She tugged her arm away. "Fred, it's nothing. Look, please, I just want to be alone."
Fred's heart plummeted at the pain etched in her voice, and upon seeing her blink much too rapidly, said matter-of-factly, "Yeah, that's not happening, love," and before she could make any further protestations, he grasped her left hand and began to pull her down the hall.
"Fred — what are you—?"
"We're getting you some toffee eclairs and a cup of tea."
Fifteen minutes later, she found herself seated in the Hogwarts kitchens in a much calmer state, House-Elves eyeing her curiously as Fred tended to her hand, the sweet taste of toffee on her tongue and the smell of chamomile tea wafting in the air.
"Evanesco," he muttered under his breath, vanishing the blood before wrapping a bandage around her right hand.
"I must say, I'm quite impressed," said Edelyn, a small smile playing her lips as she watched Fred scrunch his eyebrows in concentration and poke a safety pin through the bandages to hold it together. "Your mum would be proud to see that her dearest son has a knack for healing."
"Dare tell anyone I did this, Lyn—"
"Or what?" she mused.
Fred quirked a brow and smirked. "Or this."
Edelyn barely had time to blink before his fingers were attacking her sides. A snort of giggles escaped her lips and she tried to squirm away, but Fred was relentless. "Okay, okay!" she panted. "I promise I — I won't tell anyone."
"Pinky swear on that?"
Edelyn's face twisted and Fred instantly realized he had misspoken. Upper teeth finding her bottom lip, she reached over for the cup of chamomile tea and sipped it, lashes fluttering. Fred, confused and unsure of what to do, did what he always did in distressing situations.
He accio'd a napkin, a bowl of melted chocolate, and a toothpick.
"Fred," said Edelyn as she watched him dip the toothpick into the chocolate and scrawl some lines on the napkin. "What are you doing?"
"Plotting."
"Plotting what?"
"Plotting to plant a dungbomb in that old toad's office."
The corners of her mouth twitched. "And you can't do that with parchment and quill?"
He looked up and sent her a grin. "You can't eat leftover ink, now can you?"
Edelyn smiled and rested her hand on his. "Thank you, Fred."
"Always at your service, love," he replied, wrapping an arm around her waist and giving her a light squeeze.
And there were never words truer than this, for Fred would have done anything to make the girl smile or laugh, because hidden behind the brotherly persona he adopted in her presence, Fred Weasley knew fair well that he felt something.
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❛ One-sixty. ❜
published: March 11, 2018
⦅ thank you for reading! ⦆
―hugs, aelizia
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