Speech Is Silver, but Silence Is Golden

The grey sweater hung ruffled around my neck as I tried to pull it over my shoulders with one hand, the other covered in bandages, the wrist stiffly straight. It was proving to be more difficult than I had initially thought after fighting with the silver and green striped tie before. While I pushed my aching arms through the sleeves, I threw a quick checking look towards Madam Pomfrey’s office. I was not exactly allowed to get up, and even explicitly forbidden from going to class. But I had set my mind on attending, not matter what she thought about it.

When the sweater was finally covering the white blouse, I pulled my hair out and let it fall freely over my back. Turning towards the mirror, I looked at myself. The cut on my cheek was a dark shade of red, nearly looking as if it was stray strawberry jam. Turning my head to the other side, I saw the slight red tint the slap had left. Lifting my hand, I brushed my fingers along the cheekbone. It still was tender.

I faced the nightstand where my wand and necklace were still laying. Reaching for the golden glittering item, I picked it up with my right and fumbled with the tiny clasp, only able to move the fingertips of my right, the rest of my hand fixated. It opened with some effort and I put it around my neck, my chin lowered as I concentrated on the feeling of the clasp.

I heard the creaking of hinges behind me and instantly knew I was in trouble as there were no steps. Turning around, I lifted my head as far as I could while still trying to fasten the clasp, my arms feeling heavy as lead, seeing Madam Pomfrey standing in the doorway, tapping her foot on the floor, her hands on her hips.

“You are not going to leave the hospital wing, Miss Hitchens.” She said sternly, her eyes shining unyieldingly. She was quite intimidating, standing there and emitting such authority. I sighed inaudibly, preparing myself for a very long discussion, before raising objection, my voice slightly muffled from speaking towards the floor rather than her, still fumbling with the necklace.

“You can’t be serious! I have OWLs next week! I can’t miss class! Not now.” I whined, the clasp nearly slipping from my fingers, before I had finally closed it and let go. The pendant hung queerly over the tie, while I concentrated on the woman who had stepped closer to my bed now, nearly threateningly so.

“It wouldn’t matter even if you had OWLs today. You are not well. The wound on your hand isn’t closed. It’s still bleeding. Look, it soaked the bandages.” She listed, pointing her wand to my injured hand.

I lifted my left and realized that she was right. The bandages covering the palm of my hand were tinted pinkish. Quickly turning towards the mirror I inspected the collar of my white blouse, which had been cleaned and blood-stain free this morning, by house-elves, I figured. But there were no new blood-stains, not even a pink tint visible. Apparently the bandages had soaked up all the blood.

I pulled the collar up as high as I could, trying to hide the long, angry, red scratches on my neck. First I had been confused where they had come from. I hadn’t been strangled or scratched. But then I remembered that when I had been ripping my necklace off, I had been clawing at my neck. Therefore it seemed I must also have been ripping skin the second time she had used the cruciato on me.

Draping my brown hair so it covered most of my neck, my eyes flickered away to the strict woman standing behind me. Her expression had softened, her arms crossed defiantly and she was huffing. I caught her gaze in the mirror, her eyes dark mossy green and soft. She had already given in, but was still in denial.

Breaking the eye-contact, I looked at myself again. My eyes were a duller shade of brown than I was used to. They seemed to be darker and the paleness of my skin emphasized that fact. I looked worn and sick. It was understandable she did not want me to over exert myself yet.

“Please.” I said more quietly as I turned around to face her again, trying hard to make my voice sound reasonable and feeble at the same time, knowing she only needed a bit of coaxing before giving in. “I have to go to class. I’ll return afterwards, if you say so.”

She looked at me for a very long moment, her eyes showing compassion to such an extent I felt uncomfortable, because the last person who had looked at me like that had been my mother. My breath stuttered at the thought and I averted my eyes, hiding my thoughts and feelings from her. I only heard as she sighed, mumbled something under her breath and then told me to sit down so she could change the bandages.

I sat down on the bed, avoiding eye contact as she swished her wand around angrily, fresh bandages as well as a small stool flying towards me. She sat on the footstool and I extended my hand. With a brisk snip of her wand, the bandages ripped open and she pried them away from my hand and arm with practiced but sturdy movements.

I winced as the fabric around the wound was pulled away, but remained silent, not about to give her another reason to keep me here. It took a couple of minutes before she had cleaned the wound, causing me to bite my cheek a couple of times to remain silent, and began to wrap the arm in bandages again, her touch holding a certain edge.

“Come here tomorrow before class so I can take a look.” She said while directing her wand at the bandage-end which seemingly melted into the fabric beneath, fastening the wrappings. “You can go now, since it is what you desire so much.” She said piqued, grabbing the bloody bandages from the bed and letting the small stool slide back into its corner with her wand. I watched as she walked back to her office, complaining to herself. “First I have to throw out that persistent boy and now this. Why do I even bother if no one listens to me anyway? Should just let them see how they get by-“ The door behind her closed and I got up from the bed, smoothing the black skirt before grabbing my wand and cloak.

Crossing the room, I pushed my hand through the sleeves before putting my wand away securely in the inside pocket. I pulled the door open and stepped into the less familiar hallways. I barely ever was in this part of the castle, mostly spending my time in the dungeon, the common-room or the library. And judging from the emptiness of the hallways, I guessed other students spent most of their time elsewhere as well.

The silence, only perturbed by my dragging footsteps, was gnawing at my insides, making me restless. Even the aching of my muscles became only a dull throb in the back of my mind, as my eyes checked each tapestry and hallway.

But the closer I came to the Great Hall, the more students I encountered, most of them tired, some complaining about homework or talking about their plans for the summer. More than ever felt I different. They were so unperturbed living a normal day. And I felt how hot desire burned inside my stomach, a cold hand reaching for my heart, squeezing it. Envy.

I descended the stairs leading to the Great Hall, ignoring the fifth years, practicing their spells, the seventh years brushing past me, holding onto bread and buns on their way back to studying for their NEWTs. The buzz of voices greeted me as I entered the Great Hall, my eyes sweeping across the long tables, sparsely filled with groups of students, searching for one in particular.

I saw his head of blonde hair and quickened my step, walking towards him. He was standing behind the bench, fumbling with his book-bag, apparently searching for one textbook in familiar. His brow was furrowed and annoyance shining in his eyes.

A soft smile played on my lips as I stopped in front of him, waiting patiently until he had noticed me, my hands behind my back. He cursed, then looked up, about to snarl at whoever stood there, but stopped himself, his eyes widening in surprise, annoyance disappearing completely.

Before he could react, I stepped towards him and wrapped my arms around his neck, holding onto him tightly. A group of first-years looked at us with big eyes, stopping their attempts at a transformation spell for a moment of gawking openly. Draco stumbled backwards a couple of steps, before he caught his footing again and I felt his hands on my back as he returned the hug, though in much more causal fashion. As the first-years began to whisper amongst themselves, I only smiled at them broadly, which caused them to quickly avert their eyes.

Draco’s hands then slid to my waist and he gently pushed me away. I let go and took a step back, my nose and cheeks beginning to burn up as I noticed that more students were looking at us, whispering behind raised hands. Turning my head to the right, I noticed that a friend of the Weasley twins was imitating our hug, making loud kissing noises.

I nearly flinched as Draco lifted one hand to my hair, brushing it away, exposing the scratches on my neck, concern and abhorrence in his gaze, as his eyes trailed the angry red lines, his head tilted to the side.

“What’s up with that?” he asked causally, his voice calm and quiet as he didn’t want to be overheard. I averted my eyes to the floor then, not quite sure how I should tell him that it had been his aunt who had abducted me, as the mere thought of last night made me shudder.

“And your hand? Why is it bandaged? What happened?” He was demanding answers now, and I looked up at him, my words nothing more than a mere whisper.

“I can’t tell you that now.” I saw how his jaw-muscle flexed as he grit his teeth, his eyes narrowing and glittering with anger, as he averted his face, glaring at the Ravenclaw table. Clearly he didn’t want to scoff at me, but couldn’t control his anger at being treated like a child.

“Snape already said something along those lines.” He grumbled, barely moving his lips to speak. I wanted to tell him everything, but Professor Snape had told me to keep it to myself until Professor Dumbledore returned. I was not about to break my promise.

I reached for his hand, his long, thin fingers cold, and intertwined mine with his. He looked at our hands, his gaze still angry and his jaw set. I waited a long moment, before he sighed and looked up at me. Smiling as I noticed that he had pushed his feelings aside for the time being, I nodded towards the bench. We sat down without another word and began eating silently. Occasionally our arms would brush and he would mumble something to himself, which I ignored pointedly, before I finally decided to break the silence choosing a lighter topic.

“You know, Madam Pomfrey was complaining about a persistent boy, who wanted to visit last night. You know anything about that?” I asked, my body halfway turned so it was facing his, holding onto my strawberry-jam toast, one eyebrow raised questioningly. As he turned his head to look at me, he tried to look nonchalant while mimicking my look and failed to notice the grin I was biting back. His cheeks, however gave him away, as they started to tint the slightest shade of rose, which made any answer he would have given unnecessary.

I turned away then, allowing him to evade the question with his pride intact, smiling broadly into my toast, while I realized that it hadn’t been a dream when he had sat there and held my hand.

The smile dulled, however, when the bench across from us filled with a couple of his friends. Black haired Pansy was among them and she was eyeing me curiously, her eyes lingering on the red streak on my cheek before flickering to my bandaged hand. Yet it seemed she possessed enough common sense not to ask in front of Draco and instead ignored me, as had become her habit over the last few months.

“Draco,” She drawled, stealing a side-eyed glance at me to see my reaction, while his eyes lazily travelled towards her. “Are you excited what you’ll get for your birthday, Draco?”

I wanted to roll my eyes at the way she drawled his name, emphasizing it ridiculously, but my breath caught in my throat at the mention of his birthday. I felt as if I had just swallowed a big amount of ice-cubes and I put my half-eaten toast back onto my plate, not even hearing Draco’s response, suddenly feeling utterly guilty, Bellatrix’ taunting words echoing through my mind.

The wound in my hand began to tingle, reminding me that the present from his parents was broken and probably still inside that library, underneath that bowl with fire. The package with the crumpled edge and next to it the shards, one of them covered in blood. My blood. Only appropriate, since I had been the one breaking it.

Startled when they got up, I followed suit, blindly walking next to Draco, avoiding the glances he sent me while listening with one ear to Crabbe and Goyle’s senseless banter, which was echoing loudly in the stone corridor. He reached for my hand, his cold fingers intertwining with mine once again and we both slowed down, bringing some distance between us and his friends.

I looked up at him as we slowly followed behind the Slytherins, shifting my weight on my feet, turning my whole body with each step I took, walking as if I was drunk. His gaze was heavy on me, worry so openly displayed I began to feel how guilt was constricting my throat.

“I’m sorry.” I said suddenly, surprising him and myself. His eyebrows rose high on his forehead, wrinkles of confusion appearing. “I’m sorry, but I broke your gift. The one your parents bought you.”

I blurted quickly. He blinked then, confused and I could see renewed concern shining in his eyes along with incomprehension. “What are you talking about?” His question sounded harsh and I flinched, welcoming the sting as punishment for my mistake.

“I- I picked it up from Hogsmeade yesterday, at the Owls Office. But it was a portkey and-“ I stopped myself then, knowing I could not tell him, already hearing his inquiry. Surprisingly, though, he didn’t pry further. I stole a glance at him as he began to move around and saw that he was rummaging through one of his cloak-pockets.

“My mother wrote me.” I looked at him as he stated that, blinking confusedly as he pulled out a sheet of paper from the pocket. I saw how his cheeks began to tint pink again as he held it out to me. “I was too lazy to put it in my bag, okay?” he huffed, misreading my in confusion raised eyebrow. Directing my eyes at the letter, I quickly scanned the lines while he continued. “She told me she had just found the perfect gift yesterday and hopes it won’t be too heavy for Tisiphone.”

I looked up at him, blinking as realization slowly seeped into my mind. It all made sense now. The package had just been a decoy, used by Bellatrix to get me to her without being seen. She had set me up from the beginning. She had written the letter and the reason why I was to pick up the package at a certain time was because it was a portkey.

Relief flooded my whole being and I felt the sides of my mouth twitch upwards, before I handed Draco the letter. He was watching my reaction intently, accepting the sheet of paper without even looking and putting it back into his pocket. Looking at him, I desperately wanted to say something. I wanted to explain to him what had just fallen like scales from my eyes. But I knew I couldn’t and I desperately searched for something else to say.

“Is she named after the guardian of the gates of Tartarus or one of the Erinyes?” I didn’t know why I asked that. But it was the first thing which came to my mind. Draco was caught off guard as well, blinking at me his eyebrows furrowed.

“Pardon me?”

“Don’t you know? Tisiphone is an ancient name.” I began to explain as we descended the stairs leading to the dungeons. “There is a Myth in which Tisiphone is the angry and cruel guardian of the gates of Tartarus.” He was looking at me with raised brows, though more doubting than interested, while I gestured and my voice found its lecturing tone.

“The ancient greek believed Tartarus was a level lower than the underworld, something similar to hell. But there is another Tisiphone. One of the Erinyes, better known as one of the Furies. They judged people who broke oaths.”

We rounded the group of students in front of the heavy wooden door leading to the potions classroom and stopped then as he leaned against the wall next to Crabbe and Goyle which were silent now. I continued, though his eyes were more interested in the students as if he was searching for someone.

“Tisiphone punished those who had committed parricide, fratricide or homicide.” I closed and he nodded, clearly not interested but trying not to let it show too much. It seemed, however as if something else had caught his eye.

I turned to follow his gaze and saw Potter and his friends descending the stairs, keeping to themselves as always. Draco quickly hissed at Crabbe and Goyle, who looked at him in response. He then nodded at them, a malicious grin already on his face. The feeling that they had planned this before crept over me and I had watched Draco often enough to know what was going to come and nothing would stop him. I squeezed his hand regardlessly as he spoke up loudly enough for everyone to hear.

“Of course, it’s not what you know, it’s who you know.” He paused and Crabbe and Goyle nodded as if rehearsed, which it probably was. “Now father’s been friendly with the head of the Wizarding Examinations Authority for years – old Griselda Marchbanks – we’ve had her ‘round for dinner and everything...”

When Potter turned away pointedly, I murmured to Draco. “Oh do you always have to do this?” His eyes remained on Potter for another long moment as he wallowed in his triumph, during which the classroom door opened.

Professor Snape threw a look outside as if to reassure himself that it were indeed students standing there. He caught my gaze and silent understanding passed between us, before he vanished inside the room again.

Draco then turned to me, grinning broadly as he began to speak in a high-pitched imitation of me. “Don’t you know? Tisiphone is the name of an ancient greek lady who guards hell.” I narrowed my eyes at him and elbowed him in the rips as we entered the room, telling him to shut up.