Annalise
I sat in Professor McGonagall’s office, silent as she scribbled something down on a piece of parchment, tied the parchment to an owl, and opened the window. As the owl flew off, she turned to face me, “I can only say this bluntly,” she said, taking a breath, “The killing curse was performed this evening in the boy’s lavatory.”
“Performed by who?” I asked.
“We don’t know that yet.” Professor McGonagall said.
“Well then you should do a little investigation. Interview the students and—”
“Miss Zabini.” she interrupted, “It was performed on your brother.”
I didn’t hear anything she said after that. I’m pretty sure she walked me back to my common room. I went straight to bed. I cried myself to sleep that night.
I awoke in a rather cheerful mood. Probably because I slept till noon. I made my way down to the Great Hall for lunch. When I sat down, I realised that almost everyone was looking at me with pity in their eyes. So it wasn’t just a dream. I don’t usually talk to people, but I was especially quiet that day.
After lunch, I wasn’t in the mood for anything, so went back down to the Slytherin common room. When I stepped inside, Lucilia Nott noticed me, “Professor McGonagall told everyone what happened during breakfast today.” She told me, “I’m really sorry.”
I didn’t really know what to say, so I just nodded.
“There is something I want to show you, though.” She said, walking over to an armchair. On it was a large box, which she handed to me, “These are from some of the other students.”
I took the box from her, “Thanks.” I said. She smiled at me and I made my way to my dormitory. I opened the box and started going through it. I skimmed through the letters and barely glanced at the gifts. These people don’t actually care. I thought, They barely even knew him. They’re just trying to make themselves seem like better people.
But when I saw Cynthia’s letter, all of those thoughts melted away.
Dear Annalise,
I cannot express to you how sorry I feel. Loss is a very horrible thing. I could stop right there. But I need to say more.
Your brother could not tell me exactly how much you meant to him. But he got pretty damn close. He praised you for your courage, beauty, wisdom, and kindness. Especially your kindness. He told me the story about how you begged Professor McGonagall to change some of your classes to be together. How you had to sacrifice your favourite classes just to be with him. He told me about how you got him a cat only to find out that he was allergic. And you never really forgave yourself for that trip to St. Mungo’s.
And then he told me about your trip to America last June. He told me about the Pride Parade, and how your family was, in his words, “the proudest.” He told me that your parent is non-binary. He told me that he used to be Lydia and you and your parents were fully supportive with him becoming Charles. Which is to say, trans. And he told me that you are a lesbian, and instantly made me swear that I wouldn’t tell you he said that, in fear of damaging your relationship.
I guess I broke that promise
All this is to say that he cared about you. He, dare I say, loved you. There is only one word that can fully describe what it feels like to lose someone: Alone.
But I mean to tell you that this is a lie. You are not alone. Nobody is expecting you to walk away from this perfectly fine as if nothing happened. Death is a horrible thing. A horrible, relatable thing. You can’t understand its impact until you encounter it yourself. So if you ever need anything; a good cry, a late night snack, a hug, a girl’s night out, or even just a friend, I’m here for you.
Wishing you only the best,
Cynthia
I wasted no time in trying to find her. She was sitting on a bench outside. She stood when I approached her.
I took a deep, shaky breath and hugged her. I know that probably sounds stupid, but it meant a lot to me that she stood there, letting my cry into her shoulder. We sat on the bench and talked for a while after that.