warnings: grieving
word count: 2168

° .• °:. *₊ °

She walks away from charms classroom, the dulled sunrays quenching as a darker hue stains the sky. Everyone rushes neatly into the Great Hall to dine and have lighthearted chatters about love, magic and memories.

"There you are Rira! We thought Flitwick accidentally murdered you," banters briskly a boy with reddish blond hair with a buzzcut girl on his tail.

"I wouldn't have minded." the girl implies, throwing a brazen grin at the two.

"Oh shut up Hazel," the boy reprimands her, pushing her inside the hall.

Cesira laughs and follows her best friends to their traditional spot for dinner they conquered their first year. Hazel peeks at the staff table to trace any reproaching stare in her direction.

"Them old gits are so blind."

Cesira carefully covers her as soon as Professor McGonagall threatens her strict stare toward their table.

"Or maybe they simply don't care about a Slytherin sitting with Ravenclaws." she comments, messing with her thin hair as the boy chuckles and gloats at the sight of Hazel's annoyed face.

"Well, they certainly do," with a clear nod she hints at the table behind them filled with the greens of Hogwarts who often bullied Hazel for never hanging out with purebloods.

Cesira shields her frame instinctively, shaking her a bit.

"As long as you're with us, no one will hurt you."

"You can bet your damn ass I'll be throwing hands if I hear their racist nonsense once again."

Hazel turns to the boy. "Ah yes, says the one who got scared by a boggart Francis."

He huffs. "Ouch, that was low. Much like your grades."

Hazel takes in his biteless attack with a nudge on his shoulder, her eyes jumping between her best friends.

"That is precisely why I have you nerds with me."

° .• °:. *₊ °

Cesira is now sitting on an empty table, her friends dressed in warm Christmas sweaters as Professor Flitwick effortlessly decorates the seven trees surrounding the hall.

"Thanks for staying here with me guys, I appreciate it." she stares lovingly into their eyes, unable to express her vast gratitude for having them in her life.

"You spending Christmas alone without your incredible friends? Over my dead body," points out Francis.

"Yeah, there's no fun when you're not around Rira. Speaking of fun," Hazel conjures a floating pianola and guitars, "let's cheer this place up!"

They start playing with their orchestra instruments, crooning old festive songs that echoe away and soar up, up to the bewitched ceiling.

Hazel tries multiple times to playfully slap their hands away to make them falter when their maestro is clearly listening, the warm air engulfs them in a tight hug as their voices draw audience inside the Great Hall now filled with students and staff.

Two older Gryffindors swivel and waltz at the sound of their music, inciting everyone else to give in.

Everyone looks happy, people rejoce around the singing trio, soft murmurs of laughter and merry words flutter around in a bubble of their own.
A cozy feeling caves in, and nothing dreadful seems to be in sight.

° .• °:. *₊ °

"Has it started yet, Professor McGonagall?" Cesira asks, her wand in hand.

The senior witch closes her eyes for a second, smiling through the sorrow.

"Yes, I'm afraid dark times await us my dear."

"Let me fight!" she yelps, flashes of her parents dutifully dying as honorable agents of the Order running inside her head. She wants to be brave like them, fight for their ideals they believed in for a better future for their daughter.

Professor McGonagall hardens her stare on Flitwick's pupil, seeing her brilliant skills in charms and dueling, but nothing if not a child.

"I won't allow a student to join the Order. You could get killed!"

"So be it! I will not stand here when everyone else is out there risking their lives for me. I want to take my parents' place, Professor Flitwick trained me for years-"

"You are no piece of meat young lady! This is war we're talking about, not meek fights with your peers. You'll need much more than Filius' lessons to take down Death Eaters!"

Cesira feels blood running twice as faster in her veins, her hands land loudly on her teacher's desk with a painful smack.

"Then teach me. Make me spill blood from my mouth, exhaust my lungs, siege my mind, to hell with my age!
I can learn quickly, I can fight fiercely."

Before McGonagall can give her the scold of her life, Dumbledore appears from the back of her office, where he secretly listened to every single word.

"Let her be, Minerva."

The senior witch stands up and shakes her head in utter disapproval.

"She's not ready Albus, look at her!"

The Headmaster takes a thorough look into Cesira's fuming eyes, she feels as if he can see through her, detect every little dark shard set inside her brooding young soul like thousand explosion shrapnels.

"I see a newfound member of the Order of the Phoenix."

° .• °:. *₊ °

Cesira is packing her possessions as a distant thunderstorm sweeps the night clouds, almost announcing darker times ahead.

"Where are you going?" Francis intrudes.

"Nowhere that matters." Cesira rushes past him, but Hazel immediately appears from the stairs and shoves her back inside her dorm.

"We heard everything, Rira. You're going to war."

She stares at her true friends, a shade of stubborness and fear tinges their cheeks. She cannot allow them to risk their lives, the mere thought of seeing them die is enough to harrow her heart.

"Not a chance guys."

Francis huffs and with a flick of his wand apparates his and Hazel's stuff in front of her feet.

"Too bad we're coming anyway, and once all this will be over, we'll play those Christmas songs in the Great Hall, together."

° .• °:. *₊ °

A loud explosion fends the air, multiple screams erupt from every angle.

Cesira, Hazel and Francis shake from the cold, their backs rubbing against parallel stony walls as they hug each other to share their body heat.

Hazel shuts her eyes at the umpteenth pained cry shrieking in a distance after they heard a lousy voice yell the cruciatous curse.

"What day is it?" Cesira looks up at Francis, whose right hand is cupping Hazel's ear to shield her, even if partially, from hearing those horrors.

He ghosts a smile. "Halloween, I think."

Cesira rubs Hazel's back in the teensy space of their niche, wishing that their first fight as members of the Order wouldn't have been so... violent.

"Close your eyes and imagine sitting in the Great Hall, loads of delicious food waiting to be devoured and the funny pumpkins floating above your head."

Hazel raises her head, a pearly smile shining on her face covered in ashes and blood.

"I'd do anything to spend another Halloween with you."

.• ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.• ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

The torrential rain came pouring down, incessant drops falling on the courtyard's ground which was soon to be flooded.
Chill water trickled down her face, soaking her robes until it reached her bare skin, leaving no spot untouched. It felt hurtfully wrong to be alone on a night like this.

She could see the glimmering of candles dancing from behind the grand entrance door as students laughs and incessant chatters found their way to seep through every crack on the walls.

Cesira closed her eye and led herself forlorn, hoping the rain would wash her away if she wished ardently enough.

She wasn't going to join their little feast, no, it felt tremendously wrong to be surrounded by common joy when her scarred soul yearned loneliness and endless rain.
When joy to her were two familiar hands squeezing her shoulders with the promise of never letting go.

"Cesira! I've been looking for you everywhere... what are you doing out here?"

Penny cautiously approached her under an umbrella charm, torn between offering it to her or leaving her be.

Cesira sighed and opened her eye on her gentle face, her big eyes narrowed with worry and an impalpable respect for her need for solitude.

"Reminiscing." was her one worded answer.

Penny shifted her weight from one leg to the other, she wanted to throw her into one of her heartfelt hugs, caress her locks and listen to every dreadful thing that reduced her eye to an empty house. Yet, she sensed a strong repulsion oozing from her soaking wet robes she so carefully chose when roaming through Hogsmeade.
One thing she hated was when people clawed so tight to their sorrow that her help felt useless, not merely enough to save them from drowning.
The silence of someone not needing her was even worse than those daily arguments that reminded her too much of her home.

"Drink these if you get a cold," the blond witch mumbled with her eyes fixed on her feet, handing Cesira two vials from her knackpack.

Cesira felt awful for banishing her away but, alas, pain has its peculiar way of making one shun from every touch of starved love.

Once Penny disappeared back into the castle, Cesira ran in the cold rain until she reached the gates that protected her from the world.
Death Eaters were patrolling Britain in search of a vigilante, and if they ever found her correlation to the murders... she would have stood her ground. No matter the threat.

Once outside Hogwarts grounds, she apparated away.

. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Godric's Hollow graveyard crouched under the heavy layers of a stubborn downpour. The slender frames of old tombs stood fiercely as rain consumed their stony surfaces, a somber aura floating above the graves.

Cesira hid her features under her cape, her hand clasped tight around her tucked wand.
She felt uneasy, started.
As if she wasn't really alone.

She tiptoed as light as a fairy, carefully walking through the gallery of past lives buried under her boots.

There they were, the only tombs guarding faces she once used to look at everyday.

If only there weren't someone sitting on the ground right beside them.

Cesira's heart halted in horror and fear, her hand silently drawing her wand. A lightning set day to the night for a fleeting second, enough to distinguish soaked ebony hair and a black cloak.

Snape?

She sneaked past him, her wand ready to strike for even if it wasn't a stranger presence, he made her feel just as vigilant.
His broad shadow didn't give away the slightest hint of motion, though he must have felt her presence.

Cesira calculated her every move, avoiding instinctive shifts of her frozen, wet limbs. She mirrored his position and sat before the two graves, her back leaned on one behind her.

Only the sound of falling rain could be heard for hours.

Cesira lost herself in the names carved on the stones, torrential memories filling her head to the brim until they bursted out of the seams, spilling silent tears on her cheeks.
Luckily, the only difference between teardrops and rain was that the latter couldn't throttle one's heart.

As hours vanished behind a corner, her eye dared to glimpse at the name of his grave to mourn: the Potters.

Of course.

Cesira fondly remembered James and Lily in the meetings of the Order, they were a lovely duo. Lily offered to sing childhood lullabies with her, Hazel and Francis during the draining, waiting hours before an attack; James taught her useful spells along with Minerva.

She retired a year before the end of the war, yet the saddening news still found their way to her getaway shelter.

It must be about her. But why would he grieve for someone he had to fight against?

Never could she fully trust him telling her he no longer was a Death Eater, she never tired of ringing such reminder.

The rain had finally stopped.

Cesira felt the vials against her hipbone, virtually thanking Penny for thinking about her well-being once again.
She was an angel of a witch.

The smooth liquid welcomed her shivering frame in a warming hug from within, drying off every drop that had hit her for the past grieving hours.

A stupid, altruistic thought crossed her mind.

Cesira took out the second vial, handing it to Snape. He didn't seem to have noticed her hand reaching out, thus she unwillingly drawed words out of her mouth.

"Penny made it."

Long, slender pale fingers emerged from the black embers of his still corpse, picking up the vial without touching her flesh.
She watched him drink it and slightly flex his neck at the instant coziness winding his limbs down.

A distant snap signaled someone apparating nearby, their heads whipped in unison.

Cesira immediately pointed out her wand, and so did Snape.

This isn't a good sign.

He looked at her for the first time that night, his obsidian holes paved with piercing, unapproachable grief and sheen of dead tears.
His index pointed at his right forearm before resting high in front of his slightly pouted lips, hushing her.

Death Eaters.