Disclaimer: Me: Everything's mine! All mine!
Sirius: No it's not.
Me: Yes it is.
Sirius: No it's not.
--SiriusFlipsHair—
Me: --Drooling—Okay, Sirius honey, whatever you say...
Professor Dumbledore got straight to work with the Felix Felicis, claiming that Professor Slughorn should immediately turn his attention to the 'Sock Searching' potion that – no doubt – was complex enough for seventh year students.
The discussion with Ol' Dumbles ended when he began to sing the school song ("Hogwarts, Hogwarts, hoggy, warty Hogwarts...") only in soprano. My ears couldn't handle the strain and so I left the office with a quick 'S'later'.
As I began the descent down the concrete stairs, my mind began to wander to the classes that I was about to endure in the upcoming hours.
...Professor McGonagall rambling on in her whiny Scottish tone on how 'NEWTs were the most important thing in a student's life' and how she would no doubt 'turn each and every one of us into a frog if we so much as failed one exam'.
...Professor Flitwick complaining in his high pitched squeak that in his first lesson, the First Years had exploded two cushions and decapitated the figure of Merlin on his desk.
So, that was lessons out of the equation.
The Great Hall held no pleasure for me either. I wasn't hungry in the slightest, and I would rather endure Minnie's speeches than counting how many plates filled a House Table.
Again.
It's 106, if you were wondering.
Making a quick decision, I changed my route in the middle of the corridor that led to the girl's abandoned toilets on the second floor.
I could hear Moaning Myrtle in the distance, up to speed on the latest 'depressing' gossip, as per usual.
Rather than continuing down the corridor, however, I turned completely on my heel and headed for the seventh floor, one thing in my mind.
I had psyched myself up for the journey, and my happiness deflated somewhat when I stood before an empty wall.
I knew what was 'behind' it, of course, but as I stood before it the blank canvas, I couldn't help but feel... lost.
Shaking my head slightly, I got to work on pacing in front of the small patch. I had stumbled across the area in my second year, when a gang of Fourth Year Gryffindor's had decided to try and steal my Potions essay.
They had cornered me on the Seventh Floor, and there I was, running from them with nothing on my mind but a hiding place that didn't exist.
As I had reached a few metres past the wall when one of the gang stepped out from a hidden passage at the end of the corridor.
And I was running straight for them.
I turned on my heel and began to run back, passing the wall before realising that the other thugs were still waiting for me at the other end.
I turned once more, and there, before my eyes, appeared a door.
I hid for two hours straight before deeming it safe to exit the room – which, miraculously, was a never ending broom cupboard – and after some research I found that the room was labelled, ironically, the Room of Requirement.
It had been my secret hide-away ever since.
I twisted and turned before the empty wall, and before my eyes a door appeared. I grasped the brass handle, and with a quiet 'click' the door opened.
A small smile graced my lips as I allowed my eyes to wander over the familiar surroundings, my haven.
The floor was covered in a dark laminated wood, mahogany if I wasn't mistaken, but I've never really been an expert on the different types of wood in the world. Over the wood, several large and equally fluffy white rugs covered the dark flooring, the contrast in the colours harsh and yet, oh, so inviting.
The north side of the room was a selection of instruments, a range from brass to wind to string. I didn't even know what half of the noise makers were called, never mind how to play them, but the mere sight of them was enough to calm my foul mood. I chuckled slightly to myself and the sound echoed throughout the room. How 'emo' was that?
Sheet music was vacant throughout the room. I had never taken the time to learn it, but my Music teacher from Primary school tried desperately to remind me that "Every Good Boy Deserves Football". I can have a vague memory of staring at her with a raised eyebrow before taking off to hit the gong and laughing at its echoing sound.
The south wall was also something to draw attention to. If the hundreds of instruments weren't enough, the opposite end of the room was definitely amazing.
The dark indigo wall was unrecognisable underneath the thousands of memories captured in a few single Muggle photograph. It was strange how the room seemed to know what my favourite past times were. Over half of the pictures were of my mother before she died – sadly missed, but never forgotten. There were a few of my father before the addiction of alcohol had driven him over the edge. A few of us three as a family loitered the space and the rest were of my younger years – visiting Grandma in Kent, playing in the sand box, begging my mother to buy me a puppy, eating 'Play Dough'...
I smiled and picked at a random photograph of my mother, staring at it with intent eyes.
Her long, blonde locks cascaded down her back in gentle waves, certain strands of it dancing in front of her vision. Her mouth was open in a smile, her teeth showing in a cheesy grin that, somehow, looked fantastic on her. The background was of a beach – a flurry of waves crashed to the shore behind her and families were laughing in content amusement.
My vision was drawn straight to her eyes. The only trait I shared with her, but by gum did I. Compared to mine, they were the exact same shade, the exact same shape. The only difference being a scatter of light freckles underneath each bottom eyelash that met at the bridge of her nose. It gave her the air of a young girl, not the middle aged woman she in fact was.
I folded the picture carefully in half and placed it in my pocket. I wanted her to be with me; I know she couldn't in person, but the photograph was the next best thing. And that was fine with me.
I grabbed the first instrument that I came in contact with, pulling the strap around my shoulders and allowing it to rest on my body.
A guitar.
Just like the other instruments, it was covered in a dark material with silver carvings and details. It was nothing like I had ever seen before and, to put it quite bluntly, beautiful.
I could imagine the newspapers already.
"Girl In Love With Instrument! Clarinet Babies Expected In Nine Months!"
Sitting down on the free couch, I began to randomly pluck at the strings, the high pitched sound surrounding me in the almost empty room.
I didn't sing, merely hummed along with the chords that I began to play.
As they entered my head, I played them – with no real sense of rhythm to the tune, it couldn't be classified as a song, but strangely enough, it still spoke to me.
At the time, I didn't notice a dark haired boy slowly open the door and his gray eyes peer into the gloom of the room. But, if I was honest, I didn't really notice anything.
I wondered if it was like being drunk, intoxicated by the music.
Was this why my father turned to alcohol for support?
If it was, I wouldn't blame him.
This was the best that I had felt in months!
My worries began to fade away as was replaced by a feel of peace, tranquillity. It was something unexplainable, a nirvana, a paradise.
As my fingers fell away from the guitar neck in sheer exhaustion, it was only then that I noticed I was strumming along to the made up song with all the energy I could muster (which wasn't a lot considering the events of the morning).
The door slowly and silently closed, and I pulled the strap of the guitar over my head, allowing the instrument to fall to the couch as gravity took hold.
I yawned, letting out an in-human screech as I raised my hands and stretched to the ceiling.
How could a person be this tired from playing an instrument?
My mind flicked back to the Muggle orchestra show I had seen on TV. The pianist – someone famous, no doubt – was playing away, fingers running over the keys with a professional air, sweat dripping from his face even though he had been playing no longer than three minutes.
As the final chords died away and the musicians rose to their feet, it seemed that all of them – not just the 'spazzy' piano player who jerked about a lot – were using all of their remaining energy just to stand on their own two feet.
My mind was brought back to the present as another yawn shook my body, and I lay back on the fluffy cushions that loitered the couch.
Just a five minute nap, I had told myself.
Because, obviously, everyone knew that a 'five minute nap' was just an excuse to enter REM sleep without anyone getting on your case about it.
My eyelids slowly became heavier, and before I knew it, I couldn't lift them even if I tried. I smiled in content as the darkness of sleep claimed me, and then, and only then, did I let my body relax.
She was running. She didn't know what for, or what from, but she was running as fast as her legs would move. She had to keep going, she had no choice. Olympic sprinters had nothing on her – she was running for her life.
The air was thick with leaves, branches protruding in her vision and hitting her in the face. She desperately reached out, pushing the offending obstacles from her way, but she did nothing more than scratch her arm on the sharp thorns.
The trees around her were in complicated rows, creating hundreds of complex paths, each more sinister than the next. The trunks were as wide as houses, the perfect place for a hiding spot.
Picking one at random as the pain in her legs became too much, she ran behind the haven, leaning against the wood and holding her breathe. Her lungs burned from lack of oxygen, but she refused to let a minor necessity such as air reveal her hiding place.
She bit her lip as the tears of frustration, anger and fear fell down her cheeks.
Not now... she said to herself, her mind yelling the words she so wished to reveal to the world. Everything's so perfect... Not now... Not now...
Her lip began to bleed from the pressure of her teeth and she emitted a slight sob as the reality sunk in. Holding a hand over her mouth and nose, her body began to shake with repressed cries.
Snarling sounded around her. The low growl echoed through the silent night and she gasped in horror. It was time.
If someone had asked her how she wanted to die, this would be the last thing on her list.
Gently passing away in her sleep? No problem.
Car crash that kills her instantly? Bring it on.
Drive by shooting? Yes, please.
Being ripped to pieces, slowly and painfully, by a werewolf that was... is your best friend? Yeah, not so much.
The wolf rounded the corner of the tree, teeth bared and glistening saliva dripping from his jaws.
He licked his non-existent lips in the way a human would before devouring a glorious looking meal.
I'm never going to be able to get married, she thought to herself. I'll never have kids. I'll never be able to buy a house, or go sky diving, or skinny dip, or say "I love you"... I'm never going to be able to eat grapes again.
With that last final, if yet extremely random, thought, the wolf lunged towards her, claws bared and heckles raised in warning. He was getting closer, and closer until –
I awoke with a strangled gasp. Beads of sweat were pouring down my skin at alarming rates and I couldn't seem to grasp any sense of a breathing pattern. I clawed at my throat in a silent attempt to calm down, but I only made myself panic more. As my eyes slowly began to adjust to the darkness, my surroundings came back to me.
The short and frequent breaths I was taking began to lengthen and soon I was breathing normally if a little deep. My heart continued to beat against my ribcage as a drummer would his instrument, but I was calm enough now to analyse my dream.
What in the name of Merlin's pantyhose was that?!
Why was I being chased by a werewolf of all things?
And in the Forbidden Forest? Yeah, it was called that for a reason.
And I stuck to it!
Not once had I ventured into that place unsupervised!
And what on earth was I thinking?
I don't even like grapes...
AN:
Okay, the next chapter is officially rewritten. ^_^
I want to thank all of you guys for standing by me through the mess that is this story.
Without you guys, I would have given up ages ago.
So thanks, dudes!
Also, in the previous edition of this chapter, I had the song "Keep Holding On" by Avril Lavigne, and I must say, for your sake, TAKE A LISTEN!
It's amazing, trust me.
You'll love it.
Almost as much as I love reviews. ^_^
HintHintNudgeNudge.
Love you all, my munchkins!!
Stace.
xoxox