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'behind every exquisite thing that existed,
there was something tragic'
[Oscar Wilde]
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"Well then," Ginny broke the silence, holding out her open palm to him. "Give it here."
"What?"
She sighed, leaned over, and snatched the 'Half-blood Princes'' book from his hold. "We have to get rid of it! You can't be tempted to use some other spell like that, Harry."
The four were in the hospital wing by Addie's bed who'd been unconscious since that morning. Now, beyond the windows, the sun had begun to set, and the overcast sky was growing darker every minute.
"But he used the Cruciatus Curse on Addie," Harry said, sitting straighter in his seat. "He knew that he was using an illegal spell—and I wasn't tempted to use the Half-blood Prince's curse, it just sort of...happened."
"I'm not saying Malfoy didn't deserve it, because he did." Ginny stood, moving to the door. "Hell, I probably would've done exactly the same, but you could get expelled." Her voice became softer, and the golden light seemed to ignite her red hair. "It'd only be harder on Addie to be here without you."
Harry sat back in his seat and ran a hand through his hair, though nodded eventually. "Fine."
"Are you gonna destroy it?" Ron asked her from a nearby chair beside Hermione, motioning toward the book in her grip.
"I'll hide it—I know a good spot," she lifted one hand to the door and turned to leave, though hesitated, sparing one last glance at Addie's still figure. Ginny swallowed, and as she spoke, her voice sounded thick and defeated; low, and already grieving. "What the hell are we supposed to do when she's gone?"
His heart dropped, and before either himself or the others could respond, she'd already slipped through the doors. The hospital wing delved into silence as Ginny's words lingered in the air, and he turned to look at Addie.
Even considering what it would be like without her at the end of July was a sensitive topic. No one in the group had brought it up until now. Of course, they'd all been thinking about it, but hearing someone actually say it made everything feel all too painfully real.
The ache in his chest from that previous night, when trying to comfort the breaking girl in his arms, returned familiar and brutal like alcohol on an open wound. Eyeing her pale face, Harry put a hand over her limp one, and his voice failed to conceal the weight he was feeling in his chest. "She's so cold."
Ron's chair squeaked a little as he shifted it closer to Harry's seat.
"She'll be okay, mate," he said, his voice quiet and sincere—though even as he said it, he wasn't sure he believed it.
