𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐆𝐨

𝐗𝐕𝐈

She stood there, motionless in her golden frame. The way it shone and sparkled in the dim hallway light matched horribly with her expression at this moment.

Usually, the frame presented itself as a border for her wonderful personality, however the look on her face made me want to hurl, or run, or fall down.

"The– the evil blond boy?" she squeaked.

I nodded, ashamed. Not so much at the fact that I wanted to help an ex-Death Eater, but more so that I needed her help with it.

"Harry... I don't know what to say to you."

"Don't say anything," I said quickly, "I knew you wouldn't be able to handle it."

She shook her head in protest. No matter how strange or diabolical the situation, she would never admit that she was wrong.

"It's not that... Just, why?" she was lost for proper words.

"If I'm being honest? I don't completely know," I admitted, "He's sick and hurting, he might hurt himself. I don't know what to do."

She breathed out. And with that, her pride.

"Get him to stop crying all the time, if you can. It's hard to sleep when he keeps going through me at ungodly hours."

He left? A lot? Where did he go?

"Do you know where he goes?" I asked. "No one's seem him in days."

"I don't care enough to follow him," her voice was hard and cool, so unlike her. I didn't like this. "He has my hair. I don't like him."

I stepped closer to her, so much so that I could see every individual bristle in her brush strokes. "I know. If you happen to see him again, please follow him."

"Fine. But only because you asked. I wouldn't do this for anyone else."

I smiled. "Thank you. But, believe me, I don't like this anymore than you do. It's just something I have to do."

She nodded sadly, looking away from me while simultaneously flipping her hair over one eye.

It was then that I noticed an unnatural shimmer to her platinum hair that I had previously thought to just be the way she was painted, or the glair from the light.

But as I looked closer, I saw that there were tiny, minuscule stars laced into her hair.

"What are those?" I asked pointing to the stars.

She crossed her eyes as she looked up in the direction of her forehead.

"Fred gave them to me," she said, "I told him how much I hated that me and the blond boy were the same."

I didn't say anything. Guilt rushed over me as I remembered how dismissive I had been when I talked to him in the Gryffindor common room.

"He said I'm special now."

Finally, I mustered a smile. "That's sweet," I said. "They match your name."

She nodded, smiling as well.

"I didn't see stars with Fred when I saw him," I said.

"He was painted with them in his hand. I heard his sister tell some boy that George thought of him as being one with the stars now. That's the only way to think of him that didn't make him cry."

Now I wanted to cry.

Fred and George never should have been at the battle that day. I know that they wanted to help their family, and there was absolutely no stopping them, but they shouldn't have been there.