Your father was killed. -Rabastan Lestrange
Jen’s first reaction was to gasp. And she did as she sat at the Slytherin table during lunch, a plate of untouched buttered toast in front of her. Her slim hand covered her mouth as she fought herself to yell out loud. Even as she thought to herself, it isn’t true over and over and over and over again, Jennifer knew it was. That had never been a joking matter — She and Rabastan could easily agree on that.
Marcus Scabior was dead. Jennifer’s father was dead. The only man to never keep secrets from her was dead. The man who even dared to love her unconditionally, despite her mother’s protests, was dead. He would have given Jennifer the world had he had the chance. And now he never would.
Her blood boiled and hot tears surfaced. With a growl, she hit a goblet and it went flying, clanking obnoxiously as it smashed against the ground. That drew the attention of many and Jen, of course, noticed. Always noticing what never needed to be acknowledged or read into. She wiped her face clean, threw down the parchment, and stormed out large doors and towards her very dark dorm.
First, she replied to Rabastan’s owl. In case he decided to send another with that same message when she never acknowledged the news. She wrote shakily, still forcing herself to keep her composure.
'Are there funeral arrangements being made? - J.S.'
Then Jennifer drew the curtains around herself seconds later, pushed her face to her pillow, and just screamed. And sobbed. And screamed. And sobbed. And this continued.
