𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐲 | 𝐝.𝐦.

fifteen

In a blink of an eye, a week has drifted pass them.

A week since Ron escaped death that was brought upon by Betty.

A week since Betty last fraternised with Malfoy. She's been meticulously avoiding him since, afraid if she didn't, they might stumble onto the conversation about that night - and Betty hasn't been in the right state of mind to talk about it, nor acknowledge the crucial crisis she'd went though seeing a girl in his arms.

So for the past week, Betty has remained in her dorm, door locked, sitting by the marble desk situated by the windowsill, arms sprawled over her board, directing her next course of action.

She has even neglected her homework, leaving it piling up on her old roommate's desk, though she does still attend classes.

She's just decided, she ought to figure out a way to outsmart Malfoy, rescue her family from the forlorn manor, prevent the only man Voldemort's ever feared from imminent death, before her accomplice contrives a new scheme that will succeed in killing Dumbledore, and Dumbledore only this time.

If Betty couldn't be found trapping herself in her dorm, she'd either be in classes or the hospital wing, sitting by Ron for hours, his cold, stiff hand in hers, her head drooping to her lap, agonisingly reproaching herself for his unconsciousness.

Harry and the others had thought that her behaviour was odd, since she's never been the closest with the redhead boy, and yet she sits by him the longest throughout his coma. Hermione second to Betty - she still priorities the upcoming N.E.W.T.s and her handful of lessons.

Although, they were quick to sweep it aside, regarding Betty's devotion as one that stems from friendship and fear, never had the word guilt pass through their heads.

The evening is young. Owls begin to return to the owlery tower a stretch away from their castle, but can be seen from where Betty has been sitting for the past hour.

Across the horizon, beneath the eddy of the clouds, the flaming red sun comes to set, flourishing the blossoming of the mellow dark and the retreating of the orange hue.

Betty hasn't noticed that she'd dozed off next to Ron, didn't realise the fatigue that's been consuming her the last few days. She lounges, back bending uncomfortably, onto the lower bed, head resting on a mound of cotton blanket covering Ron's legs.

A hand disturbs her sleep, poking her humorously by her shoulder. When she swats it away, still half-asleep, it does it again.

This time, Betty lifts up her head, hair unruly, attacking at her face, to catch a peek at the person bothering her.

Ron watches her with equal intensity, a mere smirk pressed on his lips. He huffs out a throaty laugh at the sight of her wild appearance.

When she is fully awake, she gets up, mouth agape in shock and indescribable exuberance.

"Feels like a giant's weight has been lifted off my legs - I can finally move them again," is the first thing the comical boy says, an absurd grin tearing at his mouth.

She ignores his attempt at being funny, scrambles to get on her feet, and checks on him, as if she wasn't really sure if this was a dream or if he was truly awake. Her fingers reach for his cheek, pinching it ever so slightly, and he winces, pushing up on his arms instinctively.

"Ow - what'd you do that for?!" he bellows, rubbing at his pale skin.

"Oh my god. You're real - you're awake," she gushes, almost jumping on her heels. "I should get Madam Pomfrey - Harry, Hermione, and the others. They'll all be incredibly excited - "