[trigger warnings for disturbing imagery]


Chapter Eleven; Sleep Tight


"Whatchulookinat?"

My peaceful chewing of my breakfast was broken as the garbled voice of Ron Weasley rang out from next to me, his cheeks stuffed to the brim with food.

Guiltily, I tore my gaze away from the Slytherin table. "Nothing. Why?"

Ron narrowed his eyes somewhat but half-shrugged in response, turning his attention back to his platter of food at hand. Down the table sat Ginny, looking more downcast than usual. Opposite me sat Dean and Seamus, with Dean being more engrossed in doodling on his parchment than actually eating breakfast. Seamus was eating almost as heartily as Ron had, though the short exchange had not gone unnoticed by him.

"Looking for some Slytherin spawn?" He said, catching my eye meaningfully. His eyes darted to a spot in the Slytherin's table and following his gaze, I nodded in reply. I then deftly turned my eyes onto the Slytherin table, or more specifically, onto the pale-blond haired boy seated near the end of the table with his goons, Crabbe and Goyle. They were nearly as hard to miss as the Golden Trio, which I found amusing considering the worlds of difference between the two groups. Suddenly, they got up to leave, and I saw my opportunity come.

"I'll meet you at the common room after I go for practice. I need to catch myself some Slytherins, see." I muttered to Seamus who frowned at the prospect of me going off to make friendly conversation with Slytherins alone. He didn't say anything, however.

Downing the last of my honey-drowned pancakes into my mouth, I hurried out of the Great Hall and after the trio, who were still in sight. As I turned the corner, however, I let out a sigh in frustration as it seemed like they had magically disappeared into thin air.

It had to have been the fourth time so far that I had tried to locate Malfoy, but it seemed that ever since our last confrontation down in the dungeons, he had been dead set on avoiding. I honestly was confused by the way he was acting- like I was trouble and he was determined to keep away from it.

Slumping in defeat, I headed upstairs to fetch my broom and gloves, before heading off to practice.

With the final match looming closer than ever, Quidditch practices were becoming more relentless than usual, as Oliver seemed more set on getting the Cup than ever. He was in full-blown business-slash-Quidditch mode each practice and more often than not, practice ended with everyone sore and aching all over from muscle strains or from being hit by Bludgers.

I didn't mind that much, though. Quidditch was the one thing that I couldn't ever bring myself dislike no matter what- I might even exaggerate and say that I feel more comfortable on a broom than on the ground. Not to mention, Quidditch here was brilliant compared to at Beauxbatons- they didn't take the sport as seriously there, for it was viewed as a more 'rowdy' sport, per say. If I didn't know better, I would say that attending Oliver's serious Quidditch sessions were like heaven compared to the old practices in France.

Lo and behold, two days before the big match, the Quidditch captain approached me himself.

I had just been in the common room simultaneously joking around with Deamus and guiltily sneaking glances at Alicia Spinnet (who was seated opposite the common room and laughing with her own friends, which consisted of Angelina and some other girl who I didn't recognise) when the familiar burly sixth-year stepped into the common room, eyes darting towards me almost immediately.

When Oliver Wood showed up, it had been a remarkably pleasant surprise as I followed him out of the common room. I had always been rather fond of him (which was perhaps an understatement,) not to mention I was in a fairly good mood that day. Considering that I was functioning without sleep, I considered it an impressive feat.

"Say, Rhia," He began. "It's two days before the match, and all our players seem to be fine. Sorry to say, but you won't be playing for us this time, love."

I nodded at that. I was just a reserve player after all, if everyone on the team was doing well (thankfully), there was no need for me to play. Oliver continued, however, his voice taking on a matter-of-fact tone that made me feel like he was giving a speech.

"There's another thing- I noticed that your performance in our practices as of late have deteriorated somewhat, so as our only reserve player I would like you to at least get your act together, in case you do end up having to play."

My eyes widened. "Wait, how exactly-" I managed before Oliver cut across me.

"What I'm getting at, is that you don't need to come for the last practice tomorrow. If there are any adjustments to the formations, I'll tell you- but tomorrow I want to have a practice with just my team. Understand what I'm saying?"

I felt strangely uncomfortable at that. Coupled with his earlier remark on my performance, there was just the slightest implication that when I was around, they weren't able to have a good practice- it was like I was dragging down the whole team, or something.

I forced a smile. "Got it, captain. Have a good game on Saturday."

Oliver lightly patted my shoulder. Most of the time, the warm gesture comforted me, but this time I just felt like he was taking pity on me.

"Glad you understand, Rhia," he said, beaming, but it felt distant, like telling me this piece of news was now something he could cross off his to-do list. It was probably just me overreacting. "See you on Saturday."

With a final smile, Oliver left, and I felt strangely empty as I watched him go. It was then did his words sink into my mind- I had let him down with my level of flying, which implied that I had been dragging down everyone else when we practiced. Hence why he didn't want me to come tomorrow. If I had gotten that impression from his words, it was most certainly what he felt- Oliver was not the type to sugarcoat or be less anything less than honest.

My eyes closed by their own accord for just a minute before I halfheartedly scolded myself for being so sensitive about this. Oliver said so himself, didn't he? He wanted a serious practice with his team, I just wasn't a part of it.

Shuddap, I grumbled.

Shaking away my thoughts, I brought my hands up to my face and slapped it lightly. I was not going to mope about this. I was going to reflect on this, think about how I could improve and handle this situation maturely like how I was expected to be. I was most certainly not going to let this piece of news affect me negatively or be bitter in any way.

The heavy feelings didn't go away, however, which honestly bothered me. I acknowledged the fact that I was prideful, but was I really such a stuck-up person that I couldn't accept the fact that I hadn't been playing like how I should be?

No wonder Oliver doesn't want me to attend practice, I thought glumly.

I sat in the common room chatting with Dean and Seamus, though I felt more distracted than usual. I ended up absentmindedly watching Dean sketch on the corner of his books in remarkable silence. The moment they got up to head for their dormitories upstairs, I found myself forgetting what we had even talked about.

Looking up, I noticed that Seamus had stayed behind, lingering by the stairwell.

"Everything alright, Greenwood?" He asked, eyes staring into mine as he played it off as a casual question, and I felt myself smiling in response.

"Of course, Finnigan," I responded, waving him off as I sent him what I hoped was a reassuring look. "Good night."

Reluctantly, Seamus slid back upstairs, though not without sending another glance towards me. The moment he was safely out of sight, I slumped forward slightly, bumping my head against the table before groaning.

"I really need to stop that." I muttered to nobody in particular.

Not knowing how to deal with my emotions, I did what I did best- launch myself into work the entire night. Even without sleep, I somehow managed to sit through the following Friday with a sort of eerie clarity of mind. I had expected myself to be more tired, but my eyes stung more than usual and the dark circles under my eyes were more pronounced.

I probably looked like some sort of tiny, angry Panda, though taking my mind off Quidditch that night was oddly relaxing.

That afternoon, I lugged a whole stack of books up to the library for me to study. I didn't even blush and stutter like usual when I caught sight of the group of Quidditch seniors- Wood included- hanging out in the library. I simply did what I did best, walking past them calmly and managing to head over to my favorite spot unnoticed. I always had a lack of presence, in any case- it was easy for me to go unnoticed with my average looks and general quiet demeanour.

I reached the place and set down my books with a soft sigh. The place I chose was well-hidden from sight, surrounded by various bookshelves and it was somewhat dimly-lit in comparison with the rest of the library. Barely was there ever anyone wandered into this part of the library- it was easy to look towards this part of the library and assume there was just a maze of bookshelves.

It was then did I realise that I had neglected to tell Dean and Seamus where I had headed- but then shrugged it off. They would be fine without me, in any case. I would just find them later- though I didn't particularly feel like talking to anyone at all. I would be back before tomorrow morning, at any case, and we had already agreed to meet up at the Quidditch pitch for the match together. Now that I thought about it, they were probably already used to my periodic disappearances by now.

It's nothing to feel guilty over, I told myself off. Or if you're that bothered, just make sure you meet them on time tomorrow for the match.

After about a few hours, the library had become even more silent than usual, meaning that the seniors had probably already left for practice. It felt strange, not being at practice even though I knew there was one today. It's probably even going on right now, I thought as my eyes fluttered towards the window, staring blankly at a passing (and extremely fluffy) cloud.

Shaking my head, I pulled out some parchment and instead began to determinedly revise for Potions. Little by little, my grade was improving, though it still wasn't good enough in my opinion. I still had difficulty remembering all the different properties and my practicals were average at best, considering I did fairly terribly from the pressure of brewing a potion on the spot.

After a while, I gave up on Potions all together (something Severus wouldn't be pleased to hear), growling at my resultant headache, instead switching to book titled Ancient Runes Made Easy. I poured over the strange symbols and meanings with remarkable interest, though my mind couldn't help but wander off in the end.

'The Runespoor, a three-headed creature, represents the number 3' would shift to thoughts like 'Oliver didn't mention anything on how I can improve, so I can only assume that I was lacking in something that was basic… could it be that my movements aren't as sharp anymore ...?', even occasionally flickering to more panicked thoughts like 'Bloody hell what if that was his way of saying that he's going to kick me off the reserve team?!'

My restless state infuriated me greatly and with a soft huff, I shut the book and buried my head in my arms. My mood had been fluctuating too much as of late from the combination of stress and the lack of sleep and as a result it was near impossible for me to get any work done. If I continued like this, I would go mad, assuming I wasn't already losing my mind.

Slowly but surely, darkness crept upon me as my eyes gradually fluttered shut, my breathing falling into a sort of soft rhythm. A calming sense of peace came over me, though it felt uncannily like the calm before a storm.


.

I opened my eyes and looked down at myself.

Suddenly, I was seven years old again, clad in casual clothes and my black hair pulled messily into short pigtails. I rode around on my toy broom, giggling incoherently as I did so, grey eyes shining with pure joy.

I was in an open field which I recognised as the field near the Malfoy Manor. It felt peaceful as I absently watched a few silver peacocks stride past, the sunlight reflecting off their ornate tails.

Nearby, a young boy with pale-blonde hair was hovering unsteadily on his broom and I immediately headed to join him in his little flight. He shot me a toothless smile that looked smug and I cocked my head sidewards in confusion.

SWOOOOOOOSSSH!

With a burst of speed, he sped away from me. I pouted at that.

"You- meanie, wait for me!" I called out indignantly, cheeks puffing out and turning red, but he turned, stuck out his tongue at me and sped off even faster. Refusing to back down from that challenge, I immediately chased after him, grinning upon feeling the wind against my face, whistling in my ears as I accelerated faster and faster -

- There was a blinding light, and suddenly, I was in a different place all together. There was a roar of sound that I was vaguely accustomed to as I took a look around.

It was the Quidditch Pitch, looking unusually warped with the stands being coloured strangely, with streaks of silver, like how the stands at Beauxbatons had been. But the Pitch was so very large, much larger than the one at Beauxbatons had ever been, and the stone castle that was Hogwarts loomed nearby- there was no doubt that I was at Hogwarts.

I was a mere seven-year-old hovering around the Pitch. Suddenly, rushes of bright, vivid crimson sped past me and I looked up to see that suddenly there was a game going on right before my very eyes- Gryffindor against Slytherin, in fact. Draco no longer hovered on his toy broomstick, instead showing off his Nimbus Two Thousand and One with a superior expression, clad in emerald green robes.

Oliver Wood was suddenly hovering in front of me, his usual amiable and warm features arranged in a scowl.

"What are you doing?" He said, dark eyes boring into mine. I looked down to see that I was still a young kid riding a toy broomstick, and the realisation that 'ah, I don't belong here' struck me suddenly as he zoomed away without sparing me another glance, crimson robes fluttering in his wake.

The toy broomstick began to buck and jerk about in midair, before dragging it along with me. I could only watch as it sped off closer and closer to the Whomping Willow, looming ominously in the distance, terrible laughter from the crowd ringing in my ears as it went faster at my protest, as if determined to bring me down in its suicidal attempt to destroy itself.

Draco's voice was suddenly by my ear, though I flailed around wildly and saw no one.

"You're a Gryffindor, aren't you?" He taunted, and in my mind I imagined his lips curling into a sneer. "You shouldn't be afraid."

I opened my mouth to let out a scream, only to realise that I had let go of the broomstick and was falling backwards towards the ground that was so far below. Gravity was consuming me as I plunged down towards the edge of the pitch, my hair whipped around by the wind and my gut heart-wrenchingly numb.

Desperately, I tried to locate my wand, but alas, I hadn't gotten one when I was seven. I shut my eyes and opened them. The amount of time it took for me to hit the ground was devastatingly long, and my lungs heaved as I attempted to calm myself down.

Staring up at the jeering crowd in the stands, the game continued on. It was like I wasn't even there. I continued to fall helplessly- of course I would die in such an utterly ridiculous manner!

The ground loomed before me, and I shut my eyes.

.

It was at that very moment I woke up.

(I heard the sickening sound of bones cracking and flesh hitting the ground before I felt it.)

.


Author's Note:

Just a bit of foreshadowing here. I would love to hear your thoughts on this chapter!