silence | r. weasley

chapter 3

ok so trigger warning! there's mention of paintings with the abuse from her mother! if you're not comfortable with that, please be careful reading! 

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IT WAS GETTING INTO THE EARLY HOURS OF THE MORNING, and the windows of Beatrice's dormitory were doing a rather bad job of keeping the cold air outside, well, outside. Martha McKinnon, the only girl who'd been able to make it more than one week in a room with Beatrice had now been her roommate for a few years.

Martha McKinnon was a Gryffindor just like her moms, who had fought with the Potters in the Wizarding war so many years ago. She barely knew that though. Her moms had died because of that war, and she didn't ever talk about it. Most people didn't know she was that Martha McKinnon. Harry Potter certainly hadn't found that out yet.

If you looked a little to the left of the sleeping girl, you'd see Beatrice, who hadn't been more awake in days. Her hair was a mess, and she had paint splotches all over her robes (which she hadn't changed out of) and some on her face as well. Beatrice hummed along to a song playing only in her mind as she continued her art.

Martha woke up, but didn't mind. She liked to make stories in her mind of what Beatrice was painting when she stayed up late. It started as a way to fall back asleep, but became a game after a while. Tonight, Beatrice was painting hands. They were messy, though. At first Martha thought she was experimenting with a new style, then she noticed the red glow of her hand in the torch light.

The second thing she noticed was the perfectly timed sharp inhales coming from Beatrice interrupting her humming. Every time she moved her hand a certain way, she sucked in a breath, like she was in pain. She wasn't painting messy on purpose, she was painting messy because she couldn't do anything else.

Martha moved to the edge of her bed to see what was being painted. They were hands. What would normally look dainty was misshapen, demented. It only looked worse when the words were written over top. In blood red, Martha made out "I MUST NOT TELL LIES!" on the biggest hand in the center. It was surrounded by three other, smaller hands. "I'M NOT LYING" "DETENTION" and "MOTHER" were written on the others.

Martha made an audible gasp, making Beatrice whip around to face her.

"I'm sorry. Did I wake you?" Beatrice's voice didn't sound sleepy at all, after being awake so long. Martha's throat however, was dry and gravely.

"No." Martha lied about Beatrice waking her often. Beatrice knew, and offered her a small smile as an apology. "What are you working on?"

"A painting for Mother Dearest to frame in her new office." Beatrice's teeth were gritted as she spoke. "The vile thing."

"Your mother or her office?" Martha laughed quietly. It at least got a real smile out of Beatrice. Martha didn't push her on the muse of her work. She knew that was too far. 

"Could I?" Martha motioned to all of the art supplies. Beatrice nodded, calling out "accio art easel" which stopped abruptly in front of Martha. She picked up a pencil and a canvas, then got to work sketching. Martha was no artist, but she could draw some things.

And by "some things" Martha meant she could draw a bunch of wizards having a fight. They were stick figures, of course. Beatrice assured her that she was the most artistically-inclined stick-figure artist of all. Martha prided herself on it, and surprised Beatrice with matching name tags the next day. Martha's just said her name and "stick-figure artist" while Beatrice's just said her name and artist. They hung the name tags against their bed posts. That had been last year, and they had both brought back the ridiculous decorations.