Magic? || Years 5-7

Why Do I Have to Fight: Year 6/Summer

Seven days before Hermione arrived at the Burrow, Amisty threw herself into piles and piles of research and studying. She poured herself into her work and it was a brilliant excuse for her to lock herself in her room and never talk to anyone unless she absolutely had to.

Hermione didn't seem to mind too much and used Amisty's sudden focus on school work to catch up on the twelve Wizarding books she hadn't read yet.

The world felt foggy and numb as if she were watching everything happen around her instead of being present in the moment. But with her notes and journals and research papers scattered around her, at least she didn't feel as lost as normal. It felt less hopeless, at the very least.

Besides, it kept her safely out of the way of Fleur's perfection and Mrs. Weasley's less than pleased reaction to her engagement. Fleur actually avoided Amisty when she could, it seemed, something that Amisty was immensely thankful for, even if it stung.

She could lie in bed and study and write notes and no one could drag her out because, after all, she was working to be a Healer and she needed the N.E.W.T. credits.

Not that they didn't try.

"It's gorgeous outside, Am," Ginny knocked on the doorframe. "Wanna go flying?"

Amisty forced a smile and a laugh, "I don't fly, Gin, sorry. I'd fall off the broom. Besides - "

"You've got work to do," Ginny finished with a sigh, turning around with an exasperated expression. "I know."

Amisty watched her leave, a part of her wishing she could muster the energy to go out and not drown herself in schoolwork to at least feel something. Even if that something was stress.

She jotted down another note in her journal about the effect of poppy seeds in Calming Draughts and flipped the page to start a new subject when her ink splattered across the page.

A photograph winked up at her, shining and cheery and bright. She picked it up with shaking fingers, her eyes already stinging as her throat closed.

It was sneakily taken, but obviously with no malicious intent, behind a sparking white tree. The Yule Ball in fourth year, Draco teaching Amisty to dance in the back of the room. They both had smiles to their ears, eyes glowing as Amisty stumbled over his feet and fell forward into his arms and. . . he hugged her.

He hugged her with the sweetest, gentlest, most open expression Amisty had ever seen as he rested his chin on her head and she buried her face in his chest.

Two tears fell, smearing the ink slightly as her lip trembled and a quiet, broken sob tore itself from her throat.

Ron appeared at the door, "Hey, Am - "

"Hey, Ron," Amisty sniffed, turning her back to him and wiping her eyes furiously. "What's up?"

"Okay, we're not going to do that," Ron sighed, walking in and sitting at the foot of her bed. "Technically, I'm supposed to be telling you it's time for lunch, but as your friend, I'm going to ask you why you're crying."

"I really don't want to talk about it, Ron," Amisty sniffled, her back still stubbornly turned to him. "I'm fine."

"Er - " Ron shuffled awkwardly and placed his hand on her shoulder, "I don't think so."

Amisty rubbed her eyes again and grudgingly looked at him, "I was fine. And then - "

She holds up the now tear-stained photograph, stifling another sob with a rough cough.

"Alright," Ron took the photograph away, and then the journals, and then the scraps of parchment and broken quill nibs, and then everything else until her bed was the cleanest it had been in a week.