"you will stay young and I will grow old, forever."
↠ In which Marigold Knight has to face her 7th year at Hogwarts while trying to cope with the death of her best friend, keep up with her classes, manage joining a resistance a...
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I haven't accepted it yet, but I still do not doubt that I lost you
__________
Summer wind chased her hair into knots on the top of her head and she was shrieking with breathless laughter.
Her tiny feet raced over sticks and leaves and stones after a head of chestnut hair, "you can't catch me!" he taunted. The boy was also so small, not even tall enough to spit out his toothpaste into the sink without being lifted.
A dog barked in the distance, she slid to a halt and glanced back towards the house, but it was no longer there. In it's place stood a tall castle casting a silhouette behind the trees.
Suddenly, her feet were freezing. She looked down as her toes sunk deeper into the green mud of the Black Lake. There was a chuckle behind her, the chestnut-haired boy was older now - much older - and was laughing at her:"I told you it was cold." Her socks and school shoes were sprawled beside him. There were other people there but she could hardly make out their faces and their voices were muffled beyond comprehension.
Now it was warm, quite warm. She glanced back in the direction of the lake to find the crackling fire of the common room at her knees and she heard him before she saw him. He was still there, standing now.
"I actually can't deal with this right now!" His voice was irritated and full of heat. The door slammed. She was alone, wishing to chase him as she did when they were children but her legs would not move.
Instead, she fell back into the armchair and looked up to the charcoal sky above the Quidditch pitch. She recognized the sky, how the moon had been almost completely obscured by the clouds and the chill in the air. There was screaming and shrieking and crying, down on the pitch his chestnut head was lying against the grass, motionless. Her chest seized breath, heart refusing to beat and her voice rose like hot bile in her throat: "Cedric?"
Marigold's eyes flew open and she sat straight up in bed. Her chest was tight and her room was blurry behind the wall of unshed tears. She blinked a few times, slowing her shuddering breaths to soft sighs.
The room was still dark but the streetlight in the road provided the faintest of glows through which Marigold could see her room. The clock against the wall ticked ten past four.
The calendar stuck against the door flickered in the light, September 1st.
