XI. THE TRAGIC DEATH OF IVY EVANS

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XI. THE TRAGIC DEATH OF IVY EVANS
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Mist hung thickly above the ground, a still ocean in the air. The grass crunched beneath her feet, frozen despite the summer coming up. Her sense of direction was skewed by the lack of vision. A sense of doom filled her stomach. Then a shape, short and fat, came through the mist. Before Ivy could see who it was, though she had an inkling, a green light struck her.

Ivy gasped awake in her bed. Her breathing had not slowed down, her forehead prickled with sweat. At once, she felt soft fingers caressing her back; Iris was beside her. Quickly checking around her, she saw they were in her own dorm room, the curtains closed around them. The next thing she noticed was the lack of clothing either of them had on; they had all been pushed to the foot of the bed.

"Hey, hey—breathe, darling, just breathe..." Iris' assuring voice whispered. When Ivy had taken back control of her breathing, she leaned back, comfortably settling herself against Iris' side. Iris put an arm around her, gently combing through Ivy's bed hair. "Nightmare?"

She had not even needed to ask. They had been happening every day since Harry and Ivy's visit to the Pensieve, but with only a few days to go to the third task, Ivy needed all the sleep she could get. She had quickly found out that she slept a lot better with Iris there.

Yet, it seemed, last night, they did a little more than just sleep.

Ivy nodded her head tiredly, closing her eyes tightly, hoping to sleep in a little more.

"Sorry Evans, it's seven. We've gotta get up soon or we'll miss breakfast."

"—on't wanna..." Ivy mumbled, her face turned into Iris' side.

Iris sighed and plucked Ivy off her, leaning forward to the foot of the bed. As she sat back down, she put Ivy's clothes on top of her. "Get dressed, c'mon."

Ivy, against her will, rolled to her back. Staring up at Iris, she really couldn't believe what had happened. Like some unspoken line had been crossed. Not that she had minded. No, she really, truly had not minded, at all. Last night was... well, for the lack of a better word, it was magical. Iris had obviously been more experienced than her, but didn't seem to mind. She enjoyed taking charge, showing Ivy the ropes.

And now, looking up at Iris in a much different way than last night, she had the sudden urge to confess her love, shout it off of rooftops and all that. She didn't. Instead, she sat up and captured her girlfriend in a kiss.

"What's that for?" Iris asked, breathlessly.

"Dunno," Ivy answered, dazedly. "For being you, I guess."

It was quiet for a while, a comfortable stillness disrupted by the other girls in the dorm beginning to stir and wake up, getting ready for the day. Ivy took her wand and cast a silencing spell.

"What is it?"

"D'you remember when I told you about the Pensieve?"

"Yes, Ivy, you don't really forget such a thing."

"Well, during the trial... they mentioned a death-eater. Travers."

Iris frowned, quickly sobering up.

"And, well, er—they mentioned that he..."

"Murdered the McKinnons," Iris said. "It's true," she said, looking furtively at the maroon curtains around the bed. "The McKinnons contained some of the best witches and wizards of their age. My mum's brother was a professional Quidditch player, for the Cannons. Their parents worked for the Ministry and even their grandparents, uncles, aunts, everyone had something they excelled at. But, they were blood-traitors. According to Voldemort and his followers, at least.

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