I don't think she realizes how beautiful she is.
Maybe I wasn't exactly fair by pretending not to recognize Corrine in our first year. I did notice her; how could I forget her? Her features certainly hadn't changed much. But…
There was something different. There was an odd, older hardness to her face. It was still round, still innocent, but her jaw was sharper, her chin more determined. Perhaps it was the beginnings of the definitive obstinacy she's become famous for.
That and her strange beauty both unnerved me. Because she is beautiful. Not to the classic eye, maybe, not to the average taste. Yet there's something about her, something like the elements — passion of fire, peace of water, grace of air, strength of earth. A little bit of all of these. Maybe a little harder to see the passion, but it's there. It's in the way she walks, the fires in her eyes when she's upset.
The melody of her voice when she's moved.
You can't walk up to a lass like that and say, "Oi, remember me? We used to play in a sandbox together…" You just can't do that.
So I didn't. I only watched her, ached for her when she naturally faded into the shadows, inwardly raged at my classmates for not giving her the attention she deserved. Yet, at the same time, I myself couldn't give her that recognition. Cowardly, perhaps. But true. I wasn't yet sure of myself.
Despite our estrangement, we continued to grow up together, as we had as younger children. We progressed into young adulthood, she in an incredible but quiet way. Perhaps I was the only person who noticed her at our Yule Ball in fourth year and marveled at her cold radiance, a radiance that was, however, not considered to be outright beautiful for most standards. It was for me.
Somewhere between fourth year and fifth year, I fell in love with her. I didn't mean to; I just did. Not in love with her, even, but with the memory of who she had been coupled with the girl I saw in the present. Considering our close bond as children, it was probably inevitable. Still, I fought it. How could I love a girl I didn't talk to, who had apparently forgotten me? It was impossible and uncomfortable.
But, again, true.
This, of course, made it no easier for me to even think of talking to her. So I didn't. I didn't even make an effort, as I sometimes had in the past. There were sometimes moments, when we were in the library on opposite sides, and our eyes would meet for a moment…
And hers would flicker briefly and drop back to her paper, without a sign of recognition.
That was the best that ever happened. And after realizing that I loved her, I went out of my way to make sure even that didn't happen. Again, cowardly, but most would do the same.
Two years passed, and it was seventh year. My last chance. Still, for the first couple months, I hesitated.
And then my parents were killed. And nothing really mattered anymore.
Maybe that's why I finally talked to her in the library. Because the loss my parents was so huge that the potential for rejection paled in comparison. I wasn't afraid of anything anymore. I had already lost the most important part of my life.
That, and I needed a friend. There was virtually no one else at Hogwarts, and who better to befriend than Corrine? She had known my parents, too, which made her immediately more sensitive to me than anyone else I knew.
Looking back on it, I regret not talking to her sooner. Everything was perfect in the library, in an inexplicable way. Maybe if I'd spoken up before…
But the past is the past.
And the future's looking up.
We went on that walk, and many more – morning and afternoon, sometimes evening when we could sneak out. Mostly, we talked, finding the words that had been lost for so many years. But at other times – the better times, I sometimes thought – we went our way in silence, happy enough in the quiet companionship.
Some things never changed, we found out. She still had a strange connection to nature, still kept to herself, and, as always, was defiantly stubborn. And in the course of the week, she had to keep me from fighting the two Slytherins remaining at Hogwarts and from badmouthing others. The famous Irish temper still ran through my veins.
Only some things, though. More than that had undergone transformations.
"You've changed, Seamus," she told me over breakfast the morning of Christmas Eve.
I swallowed a mouthful of hot cereal and scalded my mouth. Cursing furiously, I took a swig of pumpkin juice, then replied. "How so?"
Corrine grinned crookedly, hooking a lock of hair behind her ear. "Well, you're quieter, for one thing. You never shut up when we were tots. Something else…you're more gallant, I suppose, and gentler." Her gaze wavered and fell.
I smiled uneasily. "You're different too."
Her eyes met mine again, questioning. "How so? I thought, between the both of us, I was the one who hadn't changed…"
I hesitated. Phrase it the wrong way, and it would sound insulting.
"Seamus?"
"Well," I said slowly, taking my time, "you're more thoughtful. And even more stubborn, if that's possible. I can't believe you made me study on a Saturday. And…you're more reserved, I guess. Quieter. Like you're thinking all the time, but you never tell the rest of the world what it is that so occupies you."
Corrine stared at her plate, silent for a moment, then smiled slightly. "You nailed it," she murmured. She rested her chin on her fist, oddly awestruck. "I guess I never really thought of it that way, but yeah, I suppose I don't talk as much." She laughed shortly. "Even when I have someone to talk to. I guess I've gotten so out of the habit of talking to people that…"
Guilt washed over me. She said it so frankly, yet it still stung.
"And," I added awkwardly, "you're even prettier."
A short silence followed that, in which there was much clearing of throats and busying of utensils. "Thanks, Seamus," Corrine answered a little too loudly.
Another pause. "Not at all," I replied cautiously.
Corrine applied herself to her toast for a moment, then said, "What do you want to do today?"
I shrugged. "Haven't the foggiest. You have any plans?"
"I was kind of thinking about going to the library to start Flitwick's project," Corrine informed me.
I rolled my eyes. "Corrine, it's Christmas Eve. Can't you ever take a break?"
She narrowed her eyes, signs that her headstrong streak was surfacing. "Seamus, I need to keep my grades up, because unlike Hermione Granger, I am not a naturally intelligent person. I am going to the library today, and it is up to you whether you want to come with me or not."
I sighed, surrendering. "Of course I'll come." And of course I didn't mind. The library was the location in which most of our deep talking took place.
Today was no different. No sooner had we set up camp at our usual table when Corrine buried her face in her hands and said, in a muffled voice, "I can't take them anymore."
"Take who?" I asked somewhat impatiently.
She waved a hand in the air vaguely. "The teachers. The kids who are left. You. Me. Everyone."
This was different. She sounded so completely hopeless. Brow furrowed, I queried, "Why?"
A sigh blew from her lips. "I…it's just so frustrating. Yeah, You-Know-Who's back and all, but that's no reason to look depressed all the time. Everyone's so sad these days, and I can't help but think that, 'Look, nothing has actually happened to us.'"
Moved to anger, I snapped, "Yeah, nothing has happened to us, that's why my parents are dead, Cori."
She shook her head slowly, turning pink. "I don't mean it that way. That's the thing, though, you still manage to smile, and you have more to grieve about than a lot of people who go around with tears in their eyes half the time. The times are terrifying, yes, but we're still alive, aren't we?"
I shrugged, quirking my mouth as I thought. "I suppose that makes sense."
Corrine pushed her hands through her hair; it spilled between her fingers in glossy strands. "And the teachers. It's annoying how they're always so worried all of the time, but they never talk to the students about it. It's like they think that we can't possibly be as concerned as they are."
This I more than understood. "There's nothing we can do about it, though," I argued prosaically.
Corrine grinned suddenly, mischief winking in her eyes. "Except do Charms homework."
I groaned.
We stayed in the library all day, not necessarily working the whole time, but talking quietly and reading as well, only exiting to eat. Finally, Madam Pince, who had almost warmed up to us by then, informed us that we had to leave.
With good cheer and expectations of the next day, we did so. It was only until we were outside the Fat Lady that I recalled my Charms project, sitting in the library.
"Oh, hell," I cursed wearily. "Cori, go on, I'll be fifteen minutes."
"All right," she said, "I'll be here."
Amazing, how fifteen minutes could change our lives.
When I returned to the common room, it was far darker. The fire had burned low and was now smoldering in the fireplace. I could easily pick out Cori in the darkness, her face unnaturally white, her profile shocked and sad.
I understood immediately that something was terribly wrong, and had the sinking feeling I knew what it was.
"Cori?" I was instantly at her side. "Cori, what's wrong?"
She stared up at me, stormy eyes huge and confused in her pale face, and held up something that had been fluttering in her trembling fingers.
The sickening sight of a stamp with a wand-embossed tomb was a familiar one. My stomach curdled.
"Oh, God, Cori," I whispered.
"It's my father," she told me, quite composed. Her face betrayed her, twitching every so often despite her best efforts. "You-Know-Who's Death Eaters murdered him. They don't know why. I have to leave for the funeral in two days." Her speech was slightly jerky.
I collapsed beside her and took her into my arms, holding her close. "Oh, Cori," I said lamely, "I am so sorry."
She was shaking violently with the force of her suppressed sorrow. "Cry, Cori. Be brave and cry," I urged softly.
And to my surprise, she did.
It started as a faint whimpering into my shoulder. Then a broken sob. Finally, the heart-wrenching wail of a lost child. She clung to me, her hands gripping my robes. It nearly broke my heart.
Through her tears, Cori began to speak, stumbling in and out of coherence. "I – hate – him, I hate – him, I'll – kill him, I'll kill him, I'll go find H-Harry and Ron and Her-Her-Hermione and I swear it, I will help them kill him…"
"Shh," I soothed, patting her back awkwardly. "I know. I know. Just try to relax…"
Slowly, her sorrow dwindled down to mere sniffles and unsteady sighs, and she soon disentangled herself from me, wiping her eyes furiously. I fished about in my pockets and produced a handkerchief, which she accepted. She mopped her face with unsteady hands and then simply sat, wringing the white cloth and staring vacantly into the glowering coals.
"It's like something I heard once," Cori said in a low voice, "'You don't know what you have until you've lost it.' We weren't — we weren't close, not at all, but now…God, Seamus, I'd give anything to have him back." She shifted her hopeless gaze to the somber parchment that had floated, forgotten, to the couch. "I don't want to go."
I waited, then said, "I'm going with you."
Her head whipped around, black hair swinging to hit her in the face. "Oh, Seamus, no. It's…no. You don't have to go."
"I want to," I said inexorably. "I want to be there for you."
It was agonizing, how quickly she gave in, without even a hint of fight. "All right," she whispered. "Thanks, Seamus."
We sat in silence, drawing Gryffindor strength from each other. Finally —
"Seamus, stay down here with me," Cori murmured. "I don't want to be alone tonight."
What else would I have done?
"All right, Cori."
And so we stayed. Her breathing gradually evened out, and she slept in my arm, head pillowed against my chest.
Growing drowsier by the minute, I checked my watch. The numbers blurred in my sleepy vision. 12:36 a.m.
"Right…Christmas," I muttered before drifting off into dreamless sleep.
Carry on my wayward son,
There'll be peace when you are done
Lay your weary head to rest
Don't you cry no more…