"I live in Edinburgh now, so I think it's a bit ridiculous that I actually have to go to London to come back to Scotland for school, but I guess that's that. My family visits London a lot anyway, though, since that's where my dad's job is." Marisol laughed tiredly.

She inhaled sharply when the conversation took a turn for the worse. Mari never knew what to say in these situations, having never experienced real loss herself. Food suddenly stopped sounding as appetizing.

"Oh," Marisol decided to say, and immediately chided herself for such a stupid reaction. That was about the least sensitive, least helpful thing that she could have said. Yet, at the same time, how much could one fifteen-year-old acquaintance really help anything? "I'm sorry." Dumb again. She should just have stopped talking then, she'd thought. The brunette pursed her lips, hoping her fellow Slytherin didn't either A. yell at her, B. never speak to her again, or C. burst into tears. "I— I didn't know. Was it sudden?

Really, Mari thought, now you sound like you have some morbid curiosity about this girl's father's death. Shut up.