"Daddy… I never meant for this to happen." A million: that's how many ways I could have began this declaration. It's not like there was any falseness in my words, but I felt like I should have put more, I don't know, feeling into it. Make it more dramatic.
I, Kaitlin Gaia Ueda, have been a tomboy for as long as I can remember. Well… That's not entirely true. I had been a girly-girl until I was about 6, thanks to my mum. A few years ago, I would've stated that bitterly; however, I now realize her well intentions and that she was just trying to help the daughter she loved so much. Thinking back, I probably would've been better off with long beautified hair, skirts, and an interest in makeup and gossip as opposed to hair cut just below my ears, torn up jeans, and a love for Quidditch and irresponsibility. The latter was who I was, though. Boys feared me, and girls thought I was disgusting, so I had very little friends at Hogwarts. That barely bothered me, though, with my aloof personality.
Besides, there was one peer that managed to keep me going: Dennis Creevey II. The bleach blonde former Ravenclaw is my cousin, though not by blood. See, he's the adopted son of my dad's sister. It's weird, how that socially awkward bookworm could grow to be so close to my loud self simply because we were the same age. I'd say we have absolutely nothing in common, if not for our important mutuality of masked loneliness.
I'll tell you right here and now, when you're close to so few people, it's inevitable that you'll fall for that one guy/girl whom you share everything with. So, my cousin and I were eventually in love. My dad flipped about this, refusing to hear anything involving the fact that if my Aunt Sakura hadn't adopted Dennis, the two of us would be as good as strangers. By our third year at Hogwarts, though, we finally started dating (in secret, since we didn't want to take any more crap from people than we already did).
Of course, all good things have to come to an end. So, come seventh year, Dennis and I decided it would be for the best that we break. Miraculously, though, our friendship remained intact. Well, whenever we managed to stay in touch. Dennis was busy writing informational articles for the Daily Prophet, meanwhile I was hunting for some sort of Quidditch career. I'd been a Seeker for Gryffindor in my Hogwarts years, yet the only Quidditch-related job I was able to score was a vendor at tournaments.
"Kaitlin… How did this happen?" Dad asked me in present time. My immediate instinct was to respond with something snarky, obvious, and I suppose scientific. But, I restrained myself, and sunk into a flashback.
I honestly couldn't answer that question to its fullest potential, since I wasn't entirely sure how it happened myself. It had been a little more than a month ago, at a Quidditch World Cup. Having sold about 4/5 of all the merchandise I had available, I sat against a shelf counting my stack of earned coins with a huge grin on my face. Sure, I'd only get a small portion of the money, but considering how much there was I'd still receive quite a bunch. Movement caught in my peripheral vision snapped me out of my content thoughts, which I could barely hear above the cheering of the crowd and amplified commentaries from the stadium. I jumped slightly in surprise when I saw him standing here.
This man was a total stranger. His stringy dark brown hair was relatively greasy and obviously hadn't been combed recently; prickly facial hair covered his chin; I estimated him to be 25, though some habit (alcohol, I assumed) had chipped away at him giving him the appearance of someone in their 30s. His icy eyes were focused greedily on me.
"Uh… Can I help you?" I muttered, not noticing the volume of the crowd in the stadium begin to die down.
"You sure can, sweet thing. But what I have in mind will help you out too," he purred. I just stared at him with a cocked eyebrow for a few seconds until realization washed over me. Damn, I'd never been hit on before… I'd been flat-chested until I was 14, and I hadn't grown much since then. I still refused to let my dirty blonde (light brown, depending on how you look at it) hair grow longer than halfway down my neck, and without my pixie-like face and scrawny build I doubt anyone would be positive I was female.
This guy must've been real drunk.
"Just come out and say whatever you mean," I spat. The man chuckled and ran his fingers against my cheek. I recoiled, being so unused to such romantic gestures.
"I'm a big Quidditch fan, see. I noticed you're at all the games, and I've been keeping my eye out for you ever since. Maybe you remember me?" he crooned.
"Hell if I know," I indicated. I tend to discard the memory of my customers' faces; it's their money that matters to me.
The man laughed. "Look babe, why don't we go out for a drink. Get to know each other," he suggested. I took a step back as if expecting him to pounce at me. I swore I'd give up on men after the whole Dennis thing… If I was never going to find eternal romance with him, I never would with anyone else… That being said, I have no idea why I was naïve enough to eventually swing myself over the counter, whip out my wand to lock up, and take this stranger's arm so we could Disapparate to God-only-knows-where.
A bar. Why was I surprised? It isn't like there's anywhere else one would expect to grab a drink. I guess it just took me off guard because I had only been to one of these places once, and that time, I learned of my one true weakness. Long story short, I was in a hangover for two days after a single mug of beer. I hesitantly entered the bar, flinched as my date snaked his arm around my waist, scrunched up my nose at the overwhelming scent of liquor, and then everything else was a blur.
I had learned the man's name, I know that, but I can't recall what it was. I have no clue what actions we took, or how drunk I got, just that I woke up the next morning in the same bed as the man, both of us naked. Terrified, I had thrown my clothes on and Disapparated home before he could even roll over. Regardless of if I had one bottle or five, I spent the next day shaking, vomiting, and experiencing a pounding headache. My chapped lips were evidence that I'd done a lot more than talk to this man… The dirty, unfamiliar taste on my mouth and hickeys covering my body confirmed this.
And now I was standing before my parents at the age of 19, announcing my shocking pregnancy.
