Never Let Go

They were whispering about her. Not that there was anything particularly surprising about that fact. Ever since she punched Harry all those weeks ago, it seemed that there was always one person or another who talked about her. She didn’t understand why people were so keen on discussing her. It didn’t make any sense. There were so many other things to talk about, more important and interesting than the latest trouble she’d gotten herself into, but they were teenagers. And since teenagers were so fond of gossip, it was only natural that they discuss the person that always seemed to get themselves into trouble. That place had traditionally been held by Harry, but since there hadn’t been any attacks on his person via Voldemort or Draco, that place had been given to Emilia, whom never failed to give them something worth talking about.

Most days, it was her random outbursts that people talked about. They were always getting offended by the fact that she’d tell someone to fuck off for glaring at her or to shut the fuck up, whenever they were directing nasty words her way. She should’ve been passive about it, like she had in the first few weeks, but her patience had reached its end, and she found it impossible to be passive whenever people teased or talked shit about her. She didn’t have that sort of restraint. She wished she did, but her temper had a habit of getting the best of her, and then it’d make her the target of gossip.

In the last few days, it was her outburst during Professor Trelawney’s class that they talked about, but when Pansy was spotted walking towards the Hospital Wing in her bloodied state, students immediately began trying to figure out exactly what had happened. They knew Emilia was involved, of that much they were certain. She was the only person at Hogwarts who was hot tempered enough to get into an actual fight with Pansy. Most people simply ignored the confrontational Slytherin, deeming getting into an argument or fight with her, a waste of their time and energy, which was true. There was no changing Pansy. She was always going to be a close minded bigot, so it was best to just ignore her, but Emilia didn’t ignore her as often as she should have.

And when it was confirmed by Slytherins that there had indeed been a fight between Emilia and Pansy, students began to gossip, wondering what punishment they were going to get or if their parents were going to be called in. Some thought the punishment was going to be more severe, perhaps they’d have to go home for a few days, have their Hogsmeade privileges revoked, or even worse, they’d be expelled. There was an endless list of what could possibly happen, and when Emilia walked into the Great Hall, the whispers came to an abrupt halt. They could’ve sworn that her nose had been broken, someone swore that they’d seen that nose break and that she’d gotten punched in the eye, but there were no bruises on her face, no broken nose. There were a few scratches on her neck from where Pansy clawed at her, but nothing else.

They observed her in silence, and as soon as they’d taken in her appearance, the whispering resumed. She walked quickly towards Slytherin table, taking a seat near the deserted edge. The food wasn’t all that good on that side. There was porridge and toast. The more desirable food was towards the middle, but the middle was more populated. So she served herself a large bowl of porridge and began to eat. She was ravenous, the mornings exercise had left her so, and as she ate, she didn’t notice the whispers or looks, she was far too focused on the food and trying to figure out how she was going to get to the match without getting in trouble. Snape was going to be there, which meant that she was going to have to do her best to avoid being within eyesight of the booth where the professors sat. Maybe she’d go off towards the Hufflepuff standing area, they were farthest from the booth and they wouldn’t mind having her there. Alright, they probably weren’t going to be all that keen on her being there, but that was the best idea she had. If she didn’t stand there, then she’d have to use a disguise, put on one of her wigs and . . . oh, yes, that would work.

She’d brought a few wigs with her from home. They’d been stowed away in her trunk for a boring night when she had nothing to do and dressing up seemed like the most fun she could have, but now they could actually be used for something productive. As she sat there eating, she thought about which wig would be best. She had a short black one that was styled in a pixie cut, but it wouldn’t do, it’d leave too much of her face exposed. There was a ginger one that was a bob cut, that might come in handy, but she didn’t really like how the color looked on her. Ginger hair was for Weasleys, not Renners. There were a few neon wigs, a hot pink and lime green, those two obviously wouldn’t work, and then there was a blonde one. Blonde hair wasn’t really a favorite of hers, but when she’d walked past a wig shop in New York City, she’d seen it through the window and immediately thought of an old picture of her mother in which she was standing on the beach with a gentle breeze blowing through her soft curls.

Without thinking twice, she went into the store and bought the wig, carrying it around as if it was a bit of her mother, and when she got home, she locked herself in the bathroom and carefully placed it on. In silence, she stared at herself, amazed by the difference that a simple blonde wig could do. She wasn’t as fair skinned as her mother, she’d taken after her father in that respect, but her eyes and nose made there be a resemblance, but her father’s eyebrows and lips made it so the resemblance wasn’t to striking. She took after him more than her, in looks and temper. She stayed like that for hours, only leaving when her Nan told her that dinner was ready, and with a heavy heart she took off the wig and put it away. She didn’t wear that wig often, it had only graced her head thrice since she bought it, and now that she was going to sneak out to the Quidditch match it’d have its fourth use.

“Millie?” whispered a voice from behind her, taking Emilia from her thoughts.

Emilia turned around and saw a bruised Sally-Anne standing there. “Hey, Sally. How you feeling?” she asked.

“I’ve been better,” she answered honestly. “But I . . . well . . . I wanted to thank you for standing up for me back there. It really means a lot.”

“Ya don’t have to thank me. I was just glad I was there to help.”

“And I'm really glad you were there. I don’t even want to imagine what would’ve happen if you’d . . .” Sally trailed off, her emotions getting the better of her. “Sorry, it’s just been a long day.”

“Why don’t you grab some breakfast?” proposed Emilia. “There’s room right here if you want. Oh. Never mind. You can’t be seen with me.”

“I can, now.” Sally whispered.

“What happened to being a wallflower?”

“That didn’t work out for me. I tried to keep to myself, but Pansy opened a package from home and . . . she sort of found out my parents are muggles.”

“You’re a muggle born?” whispered Emilia, astonished.

Sally nodded.

“But Slytherins are always – bloody hell.” Emilia set down her spoon. “That explains why she was beating you up. Not that I think muggle borns should be beaten up, it’s just, it makes sense for Pansy to have gotten crazy over that. She’s a fucking idiot.”

“She is,” agreed Sally, sitting down. “And the scary thing is, I was always scared of people finding out, but I secretly thought that my being a Slytherin would count for something, that it’d make them not hate me so much, but I was wrong. The purebloods in our house just aren’t any good.”

“That’s not completely true. I'm a pureblood.” Emilia smiled kindly.

“You don’t act like one though.”

“I reckon that’s because I'm a blood traitor, but that’s alright. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Sally stared at Emilia with curious eyes, wondering how she could have those opinions and yet be seen closely with Draco.

“Do you mind if I ask you something?” asked Sally.

“Uh, no, I don’t. Go ahead and ask whatever you like.”

“Why do you hang out with Draco?” she blurted out. “I mean, I understand you’re cousins and all, but you’re just so different. It doesn’t make any sense that you two would get on.”

“The thing is . . . Draco’s not as bad as seems.”

“He’s not?”

“There’s some good to him. It just doesn’t see the light of day of day very often.”

Sally found it hard to believe Draco was capable of being anything other than a bigot, but the chances were he was a different when it came to his family; he probably overlooked his cousin’s beliefs and tolerated her opinions out of respect for blood relations.

“How were things with Professor Snape?” asked Sally as she served herself porridge. “Was he to harsh on you?”

“He gave me a good telling off, but I deserved it, so I can’t really complain about that. And the punishment he gave me isn’t too bad, though I'm pretty sure I’ll get called into Dumbledore’s office tomorrow since Pansy’s probably writing home right now to complain to her parents.”

“How can she complain when she’s done this to me?” whispered an alarmed Sally.

Emilia shrugged. “She’s a wealthy pureblood; they always feel entitled to say whatever they’re feeling.”

“That’s mad.”

“It is, but that’s just how things are with them. I'm sure I won’t get into more trouble, though. Dumbledore knows what happened so he’ll be fair.”

“But what if he’s not? What if you get into loads of trouble? It’ll be my fault.”

“You didn’t make me get in a fight with her. That was my doing, so don’t worry, it’ll be fine. I’ll just have detention with Snape for a month, and that’ll go pretty quick.”

Their conversation eventually went from the morning’s incident, to muggle happenings. It turned out that Sally watched many of the same programs on the BBC that Emilia was fond of. They found pleasure in talking about Absolutely Fabulous, and Doctor Who. Sally was partial to the first doctor, while Emilia was keen on the fourth, and they animatedly discussed why one was better than the other. It was nice to have someone to talk to about things that she actually wanted to talk about. Whenever she was around Draco, she had to stomach the conversation that he had with his minions, and she so rarely saw Ron that the time they spent together was very little.

Emilia sat there until she glanced towards the entrance to the Great Hall and noticed Ron lingering in the doorway, dressed in his Quidditch robes. A small smile graced her lips as she stared at him in his uniform, he looked so handsome, but the smile vanished when it landed on his worried face. Even from her seat, she could see the dark bags under his eyes and the grimace on his face, wanting to talk to him; she excused herself from Sally, and took off in a brisk walk towards the door.

“Ron!” she called to him.

His head darted in her direction. The most his eyes landed on her face, a look of relief swept across him.

“I thought you’d been expelled.” He told her.

“They don’t expel people over punching a pug in the face.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Not even a little?”

“Alright, maybe a little, but ya gave me a proper fright ya did. When I heard from Seamus, you’d gotten into a row with Pansy and broke her nose and some ribs, I –”

“Her ribs?” she repeated, questioningly. “I didn’t break her ribs. The only thing I broke was her nose.”

“Really?” he asked, skeptically. “I heard ya broke some ribs, cuz ya threw her down, and went mental on her.”

“What the fuck? I didn’t even throw her on the ground. I pinned her against the wall and I just punched her.”

“Suppose it’s a relief to hear that, but most people are thinking you broke some ribs of hers. I even heard someone say you knocked her out, but I didn’t believe that.”

“I can’t believe people are saying that. They’re just saying whatever the hell they want to embellish the fight.”

Ron nodded in agreement. “Why’d you do it?” he eventually asked.

“She insulted my mom,” she told him. “And I . . . well . . . you know how I get when people do that. I know I shouldn’t get like that, but I couldn’t help it. She insulted her, and next thing I knew, I was punching Pansy.”

“You’re bloody mad,” whispered Ron, staring at her disapprovingly. “But Pansy shouldn’t have been mouthing off about your mum. She’s a right prat.”

“She is,” agreed Emilia. “But enough about her, there’s way more important stuff to talk about!”

“Such as?” asked Ron, trying to seem completely oblivious to what she was referring to.

“Such as you looking very handsome in your Quidditch robes,” she smirked.

His ears turned an alarming shade of red.

“Always so adorable,” she mumbled as she stared at him in adoration. “But uh, I wanted to tell you something about the Quidditch match later on. Could we go somewhere a little more private?”

“You alright?” asked Ron, confused by what she could want.

“Mhm, I'm fine. I just have to tell you something, but I can’t do it here. Can we go somewhere a little more private? I know a rad broom closet nearby.”

“And who’ve you been snogging in there?” he teased.

“Just my other boyfriend, I figure I needed a brunette so I don’t turn into a ginger for snogging you so much.”

“Oi!” he exclaimed, feigning hurt. “Keep treating me like that and I’ll have to find myself a new bird.”

“But that’s not how this works,” she pouted. “I can have as many blokes as I want, but you can only have me.”

“I'm not keen on that.”

“Ah, fine, I guess I’ll just have you.” Emilia scrunched her nose at him and smiled. “Come on, let’s go then. I don’t need anyone eavesdropping on me.”

They walked off to the broom closet, and once Emilia made sure that no one would be able to get in, she redirected her attention to Ron. He was staring intently at her, wondering what it was that she had to tell him. He was used to her erratic behavior. The summer he’d spent with her had accustomed him to that.

“What’s goin on with ya?” he asked. “I’ve not seen you this mental in ages.”

“I'm not being mental.” She protested. “I'm just . . . I have to tell you that I'm gonna be at the match, but I'm not gonna be at the match.”

“Huh?”

“Snape forbade me from going to the match,” she told him. “He said that after the stunt I pulled I couldn’t have any fun, and that if he saw me at the match, he’d be a dick about it.”

“So you’re not goin then?”

“No, I am going. I'm not gonna let Snape keep from being there. I just wanted to tell you that I'm gonna be there with a blonde wig.”

He raised his brow at her.

“I know, I know, it sounds weird as hell, but with the wig, Snape, won’t recognize me and I’ll throw some sunglasses on just for same measure, and it’ll be good.”

“Where are ya gonna get a blonde wig from?”

“Oh, I already have one.”

“Why do you have a wig? Ya know what? Never mind, I reckon I won’t want to know why.”

“I just like wigs.” She smiled. “So now you know to look out for a blonde.”

“It’s gonna be weird seeing ya as a blonde.”

“Might be a little, but it won’t be that weird, I make an alright blonde.”

“You’d make an alright anything,” he mumbled, cheeks flooding with color.

Emilia couldn’t help herself; she placed a soft kiss on his cheeks. “You’re brilliant, Ronniekins. And you’ll do great out there, I promise.”

“I don’t reckon I will. I’ve got all these nerves, and I think that maybe Harry made the wrong choice by putting me as keeper.” He muttered. “And the Slytherins have been singing Weasley is Our King like mad, and I just can’t –”

She placed a hand on his chest. “But you are our King, and you won’t let the quaffle in.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“Am not!” she said. “You’re the King, and I even made a shirt with that slogan so everyone will know that you’re the best.”

“You’re gonna look like a fool when I fall off my broom or let in loads of quaffles,” he sulked.

“Ronniekins, look at me, come on, look at me,” she ordered. “I believe in you. Harry believes in you. That’s why he put you in as keeper. He didn’t pick you because you’re mates, he picked you because you’re the best and I know that you’re gonna do great. I just wish you believed in yourself as much as I do.”

“But –”

“You’re amazing, Ron.” Emilia cupped his face. “You just need to believe in yourself.”

He tilted his head to the side, but said nothing.

“I wish you could see yourself through my eyes,” she whispered, tenderly rubbing his cheek. “Ah, I have an idea.”

“What is it?” he said in a quiet voice.

“I'm gonna give you my necklace. That way I’ll be right there, and you’ll be able to feel my presence.”

Ron was dumbstruck. She never took off that necklace; not when she slept, not when she showered, not when she worked out. It hadn’t been off her neck since her Nan had to have the chain fixed by some goblins and that was when they were nine. That was her most valuable possession, and for her to put it on his neck, moved him more than he could possibly say.

“There,” she placed her hand atop the pendant. “All better.”

He didn’t say anything. Instead, he slowly lowered his lips, capturing hers in a delicate kiss that conveyed to her his thanks. There was no tongue in the kiss, no hands exploring the other’s body. It was a simple closed mouth kiss. It was sweet, innocent, and brimming with that untainted affection that always seems to accompany a first love.

When they finally separated, they stared at one another with eyes that seem to radiate joy, and in that moment, Ron wasn’t worrying about the Quidditch match. He was thinking about how lucky he was to have her in his life. She made him happier than he’d ever been, and though he’d never say it aloud out of fear of being teased, he’d follow her to the ends of the earth.

“I should get going,” she whispered after a prolonged silence.

“Can’t ya stay a little longer?” he asked softly.

She shook her head. “I have to go make myself look like someone else. I need all the time I can get.”

“I reckon it’ll be odd seeing you blonde.”

“Well, I’ll only be blonde for today. Then I’ll be back to being a curly headed fuck,” she grinned. “I’ve got to go though, and you need to get yourself some breakfast. Don’t eat too much bacon though, you’ll get sick if you too much.”

“I know, I know,” he grumbled.

“Be safe,” she placed a soft kiss on his lips and then disappeared out the door.

She walked to the dungeons in silence, hands buried deep in her coat pockets as she wracked her mind for how else she could alter her appearance. The wig was a good start. It’d be a dramatic change, but something had to be done to her face. Perhaps she’d use a spell to alter the shape of it. She knew that to do so was a risk, since she wasn’t familiar with beauty spells, but altering her round face into a heart shaped one with cheek bones that actually saw the light of day would do her well. The more she thought about it, the more determined she was to alter her facial structure. Her grandmother had given her a book filled with beauty spells. Most of them were about how to make ones lashes grow or how to keep a blemish free face. They were spells any witch or wizard could easily do, but towards the back were the more complicated ones and Emilia hoped she’d be able to do the spell. If not, there was a good chance she’d end up in the Hospital Wing.

As soon as Emilia got to the dungeons, she raced up to her dorm, completely oblivious to the looks and whispers shot her way. She didn’t have time to worry about Pansy or what anyone thought. Her sole concern was getting to the match. So when she walked into the dorm, she bolted to her trunk and dug through the various books, until she landed on the right one. With a triumphant cry she grabbed it, her hands clutching the leather bound book as if it were some sort of precious jewel. Now that she had the book in her possession, she threw it onto the bed and walked over to the dresser to pull out some clothes for the match. The Weasley is Our King shirt was placed on the bed; it was followed by a pair of dark washed jeans and a thick jacket to keep her warm.

Emilia thought about changing there, but decided against it. It wasn’t wise to walk out of the dungeons wearing her disguise. Snape might see her and know what to look for. Instead, she threw everything she’d need into an oversized bag, and proceeded to march out of the dungeons. She felt good about the day, nothing was going to go wrong, but when she stepped out into the main corridors, Snape spotted her and her stomach plummeted.

“Miss Renner,” he called to her. “I do hope you’re not planning on doing anything foolish.”

“Not at all, Sir,” she lied. “I was simply on my way to the library. Figured if I can’t do anything fun, I might as well get some work out of the way.”

“Is that so?” He was unconvinced.

She nodded. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to get going.”

“Of course you do.” He shot her one last questioning look before walking off towards his cramped office.

Emilia wasted no time in getting the hell out of there. She practically ran down the corridor and then up the flights of stairs that would take her to Myrtles bathroom. That was the only place where no one would be lingering around. Luckily for Emilia, Myrtle wasn’t there. She was probably off haunting some other restroom, or spying on the prefects in their bathroom. The ghost was a bit of a pervert like that. And most days Emilia thought she was creepy for doing that, but on that day she was thankful she was anywhere but there.

Her clothes were taken out of the bag and hung over the bathroom stalls. Her wig was placed on the counter in front of the mirrors, and the book was grabbed so she could flip through the pages. She was overwhelmed by how many beautiful spells there were to change ones face. There were some to widen the nose, others to narrow it, some to add to ones lips and others to point ones ears. It was maddening, and she felt like she’d never get to the right page, but then, just when she was losing faith, she found it. It was a short incantation, just a few words strung together, but she wasn’t exactly sure as how to say them. She went over them in her mind, trying to see which sounded right, and then, after spending several minutes doing so, she worked up the courage to give it a go. She grabbed her wand from her back pocket, did the necessary flick while she spoke the incantation, and in a blink of the eye, her face had changed.

“Bloody hell,” she whispered in astonishment.

The woman staring back at her looked so much like her mother that she felt tears spring to her eyes. It was unbelievable what a difference the shape of ones face could do. She no longer had a soft round face, it was a heart shape face; it was the face of Adelaide Malfoy. She was rendered mute for several minutes, but then she remembered the task at hand. She grabbed her make up bag, and began applying it generously.

It wasn’t long before she could no longer recognize herself. She was staring at a stranger, a much more attractive looking stranger. It felt odd to not be able to recognize her face, even her eyes which hadn’t been altered magically looked completely different because of the makeup she’d put on. No one would recognize her, of that much she was certain, but she felt uneasy in her own skin, like a stranger. She forced the feeling to the back of her mind, and as soon as she changed into the new clothes and put on the wig, she hid her bag in a stall and walked out.

It was weird to not have people glaring at her when she walked by or whispering about her. No one really noticed her. She blended into the crowd. There were a few instances when a student glanced over at her and their brow furrowed, but that was the extent of it. She was glad that for the first time in a long time there was no fuss over her.

The only interesting thing that happened to her during her walk was that she bumped into Ron. Her face was only a few inches from his own, and yet he didn’t recognize her, not at first. There was something about her that was familiar, but he couldn’t exactly figure out what it was. But then his eyes landed on hers, and despite the fact that the makeup had changed its shape, he knew the warm gray orbs that were staring back at him.

“Bloody hell,” he whispered in astonishment.

She smirked at his reaction. “I’ll see you later, Ronniekins.”

When Emilia finally made it to the Quidditch stands, she walked over to the Hufflepuff area and took a place at the railing. The people around her were buzzing with excitement, and she was more than happy to be unseen for a little while. Though to be honest, she wasn’t as unseen as she’d imagined. The fact that people didn’t recognize her meant that they began to wonder what house she was from. Students asked their friends if they knew who she was, and it was only a matter of time before Severus Snape learned that there was a student no one recognized in the Hufflepuff stands. He instantly knew it was Emilia. She’d been desperate in attempting to gain his approval to go to the match, and when he gave his definite no, she’d shot him a look that made it clear to him that one way or another, she was going to get there. He had to admit he was impressed by the fact that she’d done such a good job in altering her appearance that no one recognized her, but he was annoyed that she hadn’t listened to his instructions.

And not wanting to let her think she could get away with disobeying him, he resolved on making his presence known, but not at the stands. He didn’t want there to be a large crowd. If she could alter her appearance that well, then it was a secret he had to keep. So he waited until the match ended, he waited until he spotted that blonde head of hair begin to walk away, and then, when she was making her way inside the castle via a seldom used entrance, he made his presence known.

“Miss Renner,” he said her name calmly.

She nearly stopped walking. Her mind screamed for her legs to stop, but her legs kept moving.
“
Miss Renner, do you take me for a fool? I must admit the disguise was enough to fool others, but I thought it odd that no one recognize a student so late in the year.”

She turned around slowly. “You said that I couldn’t go, but this isn’t me.”

“It is you.”

“But it’s not!” she exclaimed. “It’s . . . it’s – well I don’t know who this is but it’s not the girl that punched Pansy!”

He said nothing, simply glared.

“There’s no point in arguing is there?” she asked.

“None whatsoever,” he replied. “Now go wash off that mask and be in my office in a half hour’s time. Is that clear?”

“Yeah,” she grumbled.

“Are you certain, Miss Renner?”

“Yes, Sir,” she said more clearly, dreading whatever punishment she was to receive.