She sat at the dinner table silently, waiting for him to finish his meal. Her stomach turned at the food-processor sounds of his chewing, and she tried not to glower at him as she so wanted to. He lounged sideways in his chair, blustering at her mother between stretches of disgustingly audible chewing.
She stared at the spaghetti sauce that still lingered on her plate, hoping that by focusing her attention on it and not him she could somehow block out his repulsiveness.
He said something at her then, grossly patronizing, and she felt her hands curl into fists in her lap, her nails digging into her palms. The blood pounded in her head as she fought to keep her temper under control.
She managed it, barely, a thousand scathing remarks restrained just behind her teeth.
Her mother sat across the table from her, and she felt safe to look up at the woman. Whatever she had hoped to see, however, was rapidly denied. Her mum wore a smile on her rather dull face that the girl would, on any other face, term as drugged beyond competence.
The girl looked back down, angrier than before. It was incredible, she thought, that that was possible, but possible or not it was true.
Finally her stepfather finished eating and slouched back in his chair, rubbing â“ petting, really â“ his belly. Fat-ass belly, she commented mentally.
With stiff, tense movements, she got to her feet and carried her plate over to the sink, rinsing it clean.
Then she turned and disappeared out the back door.
The road disappeared under Mariettaâs feet as she pedaled her bicycle furiously, making the motion match her mood. The rage boiled under her skin, and she let it.
Her feet turned in a well-known rhythm, one she had taught herself over the past month. It was too fast to be one of the slow lovely songs her mother had used to sing, too slow to be one of the petit allegros her ballet mistress had insisted were vital to build stamina. It was fury, plain and simple, and the knowledge that she wouldnât go back to that house for a long, long time.
Mother-friend-brother-mother-friend-brother-mother-friend-brother her mind chanted, sounding on each of her pushes with her feet. Reminding her of all that sheâd been robbed of. As if she needed reminding.
He hadnât even asked her, the bastard. Never bothered to see if she was okay with him marrying her mum. It wasnât out of character, though, seeing as he hadnât asked her opinion in much of anything since theyâd moved in with him.
Sheâd wanted nothing more than to hit him tonight at the dinner table, to see him fall back, bleedingâŚ.
No, she wouldnât do that, for her motherâs sake. But if the bastard ever laid a hand on her mother and she caught wind of it, one of them would be leaving that house in a body bag.
And it wouldnât be her.
Marietta rode on, further than sheâd ever gone before. The slope got steeper, but she dealt with it, pushing her legs and ignoring their groans of protest.
As it always did when she was this angry, her fury spilled over from the bastard to everyone else she found it impossible to forgive.
Cho, her so-called best friend. Cho, whoâd been blind to Marietta and everyone else since Cedric died. Of course she should grieve. Losing a boyfriend â“ especially in the way Cho had â“ was awful. But to be so unaware of all the pain around her, of all those who were mourning Cedric just as much as she was fell, in Mariettaâs eyes, into the category of inexcusable. They could have helped each other, could have been each otherâs comfort. But instead Cho had pushed Marietta away as she grieved the death of a boy sheâd dated for a few months, and only known for a few weeks before that. Sheâd chosen Cedric over Marietta, in life as well as in death, and that was something that would take Marietta a long time to forgive.
And Cedric! Her feet sped up on the pedals, regaining their former frenzy. She was angrier at him than Cho even, the blasted, goddamn idiot. It was easiest for her to admit that heâd broken her best friendâs heart, something that she in good conscience could not forgive no matter how angry she was at Cho.
A small, rational voice in the back of her head pointed out that, being dead, Cedric couldnât really help that he wasnât around. But the part of Marietta that was doing the thinking just then remembered the look on Choâs face when Potter had appeared in front of the maze a month before, clutching Cedricâs dead body in one hand and the Triwizard Cup in the other. The anger told the reason to go boil its head.
Marietta pressed on, her legs screaming at her to stop. She enjoyed the pain, welcomed it.
She gradually slowed as she passed into unfamiliar territory. Sheâd never been in this part of town before, where the lawns were bigger and had more trees, and the countryside was almost visible just down the road.
Cedric had lied to her. Heâd promised she could depend on him, promised she could talk to him when she needed someone. And then heâd gone and broken his promise, gone and gotten himself goddamn killed.
She still remembered the day by the lake, almost a year ago now, when heâd promised her.
She sat alone, under the beech tree by the lake, her skinny form shaking with tears she forced herself not to shed The bark was rough against her skin, grating against her.
She hated the bastard, and if her mother didnât know why it wasnât Mariettaâs job to explain. Oh, she tried, but her mum was still too in love to get it.
âMarietta?â came a soft voice from around the tree trunk. âAre you all right?â
She looked up, knowing that her eyes would be red even though she hadnât cried. Cedric Diggory stood there, the Cedric Diggory, hero of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team and the favorite to become the schoolâs champion in the Triwizard Tournament. Theyâd been friends for a few years, but not very close ones.
âHello, Cedric,â she said, just as quietly.
âI saw you come out here. Itâs been a while,â he said, as though explaining himself.
âThanks,â she said, making herself smile at him.
He nodded, sitting down beside her. âSo whatâs up?â
âMy mum got married over the hols,â she said bluntly.
He smiled a little. âI take it you donât like the man?â
She smiled too, wryly. âThatâs one way of putting it.â
Leaning down, Cedric plucked a blade of grass and then sat back against the tree , twirling the grass in his fingers. âWhat about him donât you like?â
This was challenging â“ she wasnât prepared for if the conversation went down this path. âI suppose⌠Well, one thing is that he didnât ask me.â
Cedricâs brow furrowed as he examined the grass more closely. âSo he needed your permission?â
âNot exactly, no,â she admitted. âBut it would have been, well, better, you know.â
He nodded slowly. âI see what you mean. Does he treat your mum okay?â
âHe hasnât done anything to her, if thatâs what you mean.â
They sat in silence for a few minutes as Marietta collected her thoughts.
âI guess,â she finally said, âit isnât so much what heâs done to her as what he hasnât done.â
Cedric frowned, considering this. âHow do you mean?â
âHe never really thanks her for anything. Iâve seen her literally cook a meal from scratch while heâs sitting at the table, and when she gives the food to him he doesnât say âthank youâ.â Marietta sighed. âAnd he doesnât pick up on the little things â“ like how she walks after sheâs had a bad day at work, or when she sits a certain way when she wants to talk about something.â
âWhy are those so important to you?â Cedric asked, sounding as though he was honestly trying to understand.
Marietta gazed at the dark waters of the lake. âMostly â“ well, because how can you expect to have a truly great relationship with someone, like a husband-wife relationship, and not bother to learn the little things like that?â
Cedric nodded. âI see your point.â
Again they were silent, this time for longer.
Cedric broke the pause this time. âHave you tried telling your mum how you feel? It seems to me that instead of brooding over what you can fix, you should try to make what is under your control better for you, and your mum.â
Marietta nodded quickly. âIâve tried, but â“â The tears from earlier rose up, unexpected and unbidden. She wiped a hand across her eyes, trying to be surreptitious.
âHey, hey,â Cedric murmured, wrapping an arm around her. âWhat is it?â
âShe wonât listen to me,â Marietta choked out. âShe doesnât understand why I donât like him. She thinks â“ she thinks I should wait before I decide.â She was crying in earnest now.
Cedric pulled her into a tight hug, murmuring softly into her hair as she sobbed into his shoulder. They sat like that for a while â“ Marietta didnât know how long. Finally, when she had quieted down a bit, Cedric kissed her forehead and pulled away.
âI want you to know you can always count on me to be your friend,â he told her gently, then, seeing the smile this produced, he continued, âto be your brother, even. You can count on me. Okay?â
She grinned up at him wetly. âOkay.â
Without quite knowing how she had gotten there, Marietta found herself lying on her back in soft grass underneath a tree. A stream gurgled somewhere nearby. Tears streamed unchecked down her face, the first sheâd allowed herself to shed in months. She cried for Cho, for her mother, for Cedric, and yes, even for that Potter boy whoâd brought about all this trouble.
Instead of brooding over what you canât fix, you should try to make what is under your control better.
Cedricâs words rang in her ears as though heâd just said them. Marietta sat up, looking around, but there was no one there, just her bike lying a few feet away.
Marietta couldnât change the fact that her mother was married to a man she hated. She couldnât bring Cedric back to life, or send Lord Voldemort back to whatever hell he had previously inhabited and most definitely deserved to spend the rest of eternity in.
But there was on thing that Marietta Edgecombe could change, and she got to her feet and picked up her bicycle, resolute to do just that.