Dawn broke through over an hour ago. The expansive Ravenclaw common room is now softly lit by golden sunshine
. There is warmth; there is chill, too. As several of the panes are gone, it isn’t just the rays of the sun that pour in without restraint. The morning breeze also sweeps in continuously.
I don’t mind it, though. Somehow, the air seems less oppressive, even though I’ve hardly felt oppressed here before.
I shiver from time to time, but I don’t move from my spot. Sprawled on an armchair, I’m presently scratching the back of my pet Kneazle
, Menaka. Her warm, heavy weight on my lap and slow purring make me feel more alive than I have in the past few months. Terry, meanwhile, is snoring in the armchair next to mine, buried under a blanket. Michael and Cho are a bit further away, sitting in front of a fireplace.
They have their arms around each other. In a few moments, they’ll probably kiss. I feel envious, but I’m also trying to get rid of that particular emotion. I don’t have the strength for it. Not now.
Suddenly, music blasts throughout the tower, disturbing the quiet. Terry jumps awake; Michael and Cho break apart. Menaka, on her part, meows loudly, then with a hiss, jumps down and stalks away.
“Padma,” says Terry, wide-eyed. “Wuzzgoingon?”
“Someone’s playing the WWN upstairs,” I tell him. “It’s a song
by the Weird Sisters.”
I can see him deflating. “They played this at the Yule Ball, you know,” I say.
Michael and Cho get up and walk over to us.
“Isn’t it called Goblet of Fire
?” asks Cho, summoning two armchairs to join us.
“Yeah,” Michael confirms. “They wrote it in honour of the Triwizard Tournament.”
“Okay,” says Terry without enthusiasm, eyes already glazing over as he settles under his blanket yet again.
I turn towards Cho to check if the mention of the Triwizard Tournament has evoked some kind of a reaction from her, to see if she is still affected by the memory of her ex- boyfriend’s death
. To my surprise, she starts humming along to the song, the expression on her face calm.
Perhaps, I try to reason, as we sit there talking about mundane things, we’ll get over it like her. It might take time, but we could succeed. Today is only the third day after the battle. For now, we’ll try and deal with it by not talking about it. In our silence, and our unspoken decision to spend our remaining days at school together in the common room, we’re mourning our loss of Anthony. And others.
Perhaps, I tell myself later on, when breakfast magically appears on the center table, and we rush towards it, ravenous, life and hope and innocence and laughter will eventually find their way back to us. Till then, here we are, and here we will be in spirit, even after we've left.