She felt the joint meet her fingers and she took a final, long drag from it, coughing just a bit as she handed it back to him to finish off. Usually she did this alone under the bleachers, or in the middle of the pitch. It was usually her private time where she could think, feel. She didn't realize she could do that with company.
"Amen," she said ironically to his comment. Somewhere her mother was cringing at her blasphemy. Good.
A laugh exploded from within her. She'd heard ginger jokes her whole life, none of them were all that funny, but what was a joke but an expression of understanding. She didn't want to be pitied for her situation, she really didn't even want the sympathy. She didn't know what to do with it, she didn't know where to put it. She'd long stopped craving the love from her mother, she'd stopped waiting for her dad to step up, stopped expecting her brother to surprise her. It was little Charlie that gave her all the family she needed and the love of that little girl was worth any family she'd ever been foolish enough to dream up.
As her laugh subsided, that comfortable silence returned. She took a deep breath, enjoying the outside air, the smell of their smoke, the tickle of the cold.
And then a shiver went down her spine.
Right, that whole they murder people thing again.
It was gross. You didn't get to do that and then bring a kid into that legacy. You didn't get to fall for someone, whether in love or lust, then punish them for their existence. It was the seed of evil, a cruelty even her crass mind would never understand and never forgive. She glanced sidelong at him, cautiously, watching him as he considered the thought. Her father's betrayal to her would never be that deep. Her family shadow was more absence than it was darkness. To be a Lestrange was to constantly have to skirt outside that edge.
Damn. She'd been too hard on him.
Gross. She hated admitting she was wrong.
So she wouldn't. Not in words at least. She wasn't a words person. She'd find a way to show him.
A sudden thank you startled her from her thoughts and she turned to him in confusion before he explained. She blinked, considering that. How was it she, Queen of Action and the Anti-Feelings Squad, was best equipped to be listened to the Lestrange heir? How could she, a muggleborn with parents who believed to be a witch meant to be one with the devil, could understand how it was to be told you were meant to be superior, above the rest?
Because lonely recognized lonely.
And because Matthew Lestrange was kind of her friend.
A beat passed before she smiled. "You keep the weed coming and you can overshare anytime." Then she finally relented. "Anytime, buddy."
After a pause, she followed that up with a firm punch to his arm.
You know, friend stuff.