The Witching Hour

Chapter Two

It was still snowing, had been for days. Poppy shivered in Julia's black dress. She looked down, and below her was his coffin. It was unembellished and ugly. Far below what he deserved.

The few people in attendance were the students of Hallow's, Miss Hallow, and two little girls. Percy's sisters.

To Poppy's left side were the students. On her right Miss Hallow loomed, a shadow above Percy's little sisters, who held an umbrella against the snow. The little girls were crying. She should say something to them. But what? What did you say to someone who had just lost someone as important as that?

Poppy said nothing. She shivered again. Julia had let her borrow the dress, because she didn't have anything that was black other than her uniform. The dress was pretty, but it was cold. Julia herself wore much warmer attire–a black cardigan over a black-and-gray striped shirt, a dark maroon scarf, black plaid slacks, and socks that matched her shirt.

To be honest, Poppy had thought about bringing her coat. But she loved the look of the dress so much she decided it was fine. Now she regretted her decision.

The funeral was mostly quiet. There weren't many people to cry for Percy, and out of the students, only James had tears on his face.

Was this what it looked like to be a Quiet Witch?

Quiet Witches were witches whose names the world would never know. People at tiny magic schools like Hallows, who didn't succumb to dark magic. People who had no way of being known, by anyone. Poppy had heard about witches like this, and always assumed she'd be one, but she had never seen what it really looked like to have nobody know you were alive–and in this case, nobody know you had died.