Forgotten Girl

A Rose and A Thistle

The Task had started off fine. Exciting in the beginning, but then petering out as they waited for something to happen. Twice, sparks were sent up. Once by Fleur Delacour. Once by Viktor. No sign of Cedric or Harry besides the occasional flash of a spell thrown. 

Lilli had fallen asleep against Belle Carroll on accident (she had stayed awake reading the night before). The Ravenclaw had let her sleep, tucking an arm around her as they waited. 

Then there was a flash, and she was shaken awake. Blearily, she let Belle lead her down to the grass, and what she saw left her wide awake. Belle cried out, breaking away from her to drop beside her best friend. Professor Flitwick stopped her with a hand, shaking his head.

"I'm sorry, my dear."

~

"Cedric Diggory is dead."

The words echoed on repeat through Lilli's skull. With less than a week left of her third year, Lilli couldn't help but wonder what happened. That was all they had been told. Cedric Diggory was dead.

Winna was beside herself, Cedric having been one of her best friends. She'd holed up in her room and wasn't leaving. Lilli couldn't bear to sit still, although she had barely known him.

She paced the empty halls, feet hitting to the beat of the words in her head: Cedric Diggory is dead. Voldemort was back. She was sure of it. How else would he have died without any more than a cut on his arm? Which meant only one thing... A lot more were going to die.

Unbidden, an idea came to her mind. Soon, she found herself outside of Professor Snape's office, her hand knocking softly on the wood. A foreboding "Enter" answered.

"Miss... Simmons," Professor Snape drawled, one eyebrow raised as he studied the girl. Was that surprise she saw in his eyes?

"Sir, I'd like permission to paint a mural on the Slytherin fireplace." Yes, that was definitely surprise on his face.

"And why would you want to do that?"

"In tribute. To Cedric and to the others who are going to die." The eyebrow inched higher, "I know he's back, Professor. Voldemort."

He flinched ever so slightly, "Be careful with such names, child. They have power."

"Names only have power because we give it to them, sir," her eyes never wavered from his, "May I paint the mural?"

His eyes flicked to the clock, "You have two hours before dinner."

She nodded, "Thank you, Professor." 

She was just outside the door when he called out, "Paint it in the Great Hall, Miss Potter. You'll find materials there, waiting."

~

The Great Hall was empty, and beside the fireplace stood the promised paints. Lilli rolled up her sleeves and began, cleaning the stones before studying the space. She didn't have time for what she had been planning, so she readjusted.

A yellow there. Green here. Orange in the centre. Swirls and highlights melted together. It wasn't long before she had finished what she wanted. A bright yellow rose, its petals curling out to catch the rays of the sun. Thia would tell her that a yellow rose meant friendship, joy. Lilli said it meant remembrance. Across the top of the fireplace, she painted in elegant cursive, "Where you tend a rose, a thistle cannot grow."

It took a while to dry, that rose on the fireplace. Long enough that students began trickling in for dinner. And once it was dry, she uncapped a paint pen, and wrote in her best handwriting:

Cedric Diggory
1977-1995

Lilli cast a sealing charm over the art so no one would mess with it. Pressing a hand to the rose, she whispered, "Rest in peace, Cedric Diggory. You were the best of us." She didn't see the flash that echoed through the painting as she went to sit down.

"What's that?" Nymphea asked, gesturing toward the fireplace.

Lilli smiled sadly, "A tribute to Diggory."

"Why?" Jemma asked baldly, "Like, yeah, it's sad he died, but it was an accident, right?"

She shook her head, "He's just the first, Jemma. I think the worst has come true."

"Wha—" Jemma was interrupted by Dumbledore. Winna settled beside Lilli, her face tearstained and eyes red. Lilli took her hand.

"The end," said Dumbledore, looking around at them all, "of another year."

He paused, and his eyes fell upon the Hufflepuff table. Theirs had been the most subdued table before he had gotten to his feet, and theirs were still the saddest and palest faces in the Hall.

"There is much that I would like to say to you all tonight," said Dumbledore, "but I must first acknowledge the loss of a very fine person, who should be sitting here," he gestured toward the Hufflepuffs, "enjoying our feast with us. I would like you all, please, to stand, and raise your glasses, to Cedric Diggory."

They did it, all of them; the benches scraped as everyone in the Hall stood, and raised their goblets, and echoed, in one loud, low, rumbling voice, "Cedric Diggory."

"Cedric was a person who exemplified many of the qualities that distinguish Hufflepuff house," Dumbledore continued. "He was a good and loyal friend, a hard worker, he valued fair play. His death has affected you all, whether you knew him well or not. I think that you have the right, therefore, to know exactly how it came about."

A quiet fell across the room.

"Cedric Diggory was murdered by Lord Voldemort."

A panicked whisper swept the Great Hall. People were staring at Dumbledore in disbelief, in horror. He looked perfectly calm as he watched them mutter themselves into silence.

"The Ministry of Magic," Dumbledore continued, "does not wish me to tell you this. It is possible that some of your parents will be horrified that I have done so — either because they will not believe that Lord Voldemort has returned, or because they think I should not tell you so, young as you are. It is my belief, however, that the truth is generally preferable to lies, and that any attempt to pretend that Cedric died as the result of an accident, or some sort of blunder of his own, is an insult to his memory."

The Slytherin girls looked to Lilli with horror on their faces, and she nodded. This was what she was talking about. Cedric was the first one to die, but the rest of them would be the ones to pay. 

Lilli only hoped they could make his death mean something more.