Emerson Wilmore was an exemplary Ravenclaw student, known for her unwavering dedication to academics and an unyielding moral compass. However, things took a twisted and deviated turn in her life after her boyfriend, Cedric Diggory, was murdered by L...
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The next morning at Hogwarts dawned cold and grey, the light spilling weakly through the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall. A quiet drizzle whispered against the tall windows, casting long streaks of water across the glass like tear tracks. Breakfast was subdued, barely above a murmur, and the usual morning chatter was replaced by a strange stillness that hung over the tables like fog. Everyone was still reeling with worry and anxiety from the night before with Snape, the Carrows and the Death Eaters on the train.
Emerson sat beside Olivia at the Ravenclaw table, her navy robes pressed and tidy, though her eyes were anything but rested. Her hair was down as per normal now, still slightly damp from the quick shower she'd taken that morning. She hadn't bothered to dry it with magic. It clung softly to her shoulders and the sides of her face, curling naturally at the ends.
Her hands curled around the coffee mug, the ceramic warm against her palms. She sipped slowly, tasting the coffee mixed with her usual honey.
The coffee was the least of her concerns. All Emerson could think about was the memory of her standing in the boy's bathroom last night when she cornered Mattheo after the Welcome Feast while he washed the blood from his hands. Despite his Occlumency, Emerson saw his emotions clear as day and felt it vibrating through him like an earthquake kept just beneath the surface. He wasn't numb. He was terrified.
Not of her though.
Of himself.
Olivia, beside her, was chewing on toast with a tight expression, her brown eyes occasionally flicking over to the Slytherin table across the hall.
Emerson didn't follow her gaze. She knew exactly where he was. Or realistically, where he wasn't.
Mattheo wasn't at breakfast. Neither was Theo or Enzo. All three of them were missing. It wasn't surprising. After everything that happened last night, ending with Emerson's conversation with Mattheo in the bathroom where he told her to leave him with that strange mix of detachment and fear, it almost made sense.
But it didn't stop the ache that their absence left behind.
She sipped her coffee. The thoughts crept back in, like they did the moment she opened her eyes this morning.
He killed someone.
He killed someone.
Emerson still couldn't wrap her head around it. The words echoed all night in her skull, circling her like vultures. Mattheo murdered someone. Not in war. Not in battle. Not in defence. Just because he was told to by his father and he had no choice but to abide by his orders.
What haunted her most of all was how calmly he acted about it. When he told her, Mattheo was removed from the act, like it happened in a dream and the blood on his hands never really belonged to him. It didn't matter though. She knew him better than the version of him behind his Occlumency walls, where he was burying every shred of emotion.
