38

Taylor

I seriously wished I had full control of my back legs so I could give a swift kick when Madame Pomfrey pulled another shard of glass from my back. I heard it clink onto the metal pan and pouted, remembering the meows I'd heard when the door had been opened.

"I want my cat." I said sternly, huffing and wishing I could cross my arms.

"Do you also want cat hair getting inside and infecting your open body-cavity?" She replied, no doubt arching a smug eyebrow as she did so. I grunted in defeat as she returned for the second-last piece.

Why Alyssa had come to the door was obvious for the most part. How she'd gotten my cat and why she chose now – of all times – to talk things over was beyond me.

I heard the door creak open, and Harry sat back down in his chair, taking my hand again.

"What did she say?" I asked, squeezing his hand and wincing as the glass scraped my skin. Even numbed, it hurt like a bitch.

"She gonna talk to you after we wheel you out." He answered, pushing some of my hair back as it tickled my nose.

"Thanks," I said subconsciously, before continuing, "But, wheel me out? Does that mean I won't have any limb function then?"

"Oh, you'll have some," Madame Pomfrey cut in. "Just not enough to run away."

I sighed and swore – mentally of course, there was only so much clipboard abuse I could take.

"Can we do this later then?" I joked – well, half-joked. "I mean, how long does she want to wait out there for?"

"She'll wait all day, if she has to. Her words, not mine." Harry said, smirking lightly.

"We're almost finished anyway – just one more, ah! There it is."

The last one must have been much larger than the rest, as the pain it inflicting upon leaving my body made me forget about the clipboard for a moment.

"HOLY SHIT! JESUS CHRIST!"

"You're very mouthy today." Harry pointed out informingly as I lay broken on the bed, my toes twitching from the nerve that Madame Pomfrey must have struck with her stupid board.

"I'm also cranky. And in pain. As well as broken. Also, I can't feel the majority of all of my appendages." I ranted off, mumbling soft profanities to myself when Madame Pomfrey's back was turned. Harry chuckled and patted my hand sympathetically.

After that – the stitching of my wound felt like nothing.

Once the stitching was done, I was told to keep on my stomach until told otherwise, as disturbing the incision could and likely would be incredibly painful.

I would think so – considering it ran the height of my back.

So I was wheeled out, my face buried in my pillow as I hoped to avoid the awkwardness and embarrassment of being wheeled around in front of everybody. Well, a few kids and…Alyssa.

Madame Pomfrey dismissed Harry – who insisted on staying but was practically herded to the door as she shooed him.

I didn't dare look up when she whisked my sheets clean and replaced the bed I'd been in before with the one I was in now.

"There," She said approvingly, checking my back once more before nodding to herself. Not that I could see it – but that's what I imagine she would do. Maybe. "Now just hold tight until I come back – I think I have some cream that may help with the ache. Oh, I also need to check your head."

I grumbled in response and sighed, wishing I could breathe easier. Then I remembered that – though I'd been face first to the bed all day – I still didn't have my clothes.

And there was no way in hell I was talking to Alyssa half-naked.

"Er – wait!" I turned my head a little to my right as she walked past the end table with my shirt. "Can I – um – have my clothes…back…?" I asked, smiling softly as she turned.

"Oh no, dear. We don't want to risk irritation with the contact." My eyes widened as I buried my face in the pillow again. I don't wanna, I don't wanna, I don't wanna! I cried softly to myself, as the sound of Madame Pomfrey's shoes against the floor became more distant.

Then I heard the door open again, and I prayed that it was Harry coming back.

No such luck.

"Taylor…?" Her voice was soft, questioning, and it reminded me suddenly of Alyssa, not the Slytherin girl who'd thrown me into a wall.

Wait – thrown me into a wall. Suddenly, the memory of her blow out sent bitter chills up my aching spine, and I narrowed my eyes in scrutiny.

"She's not here at the moment." I responded with a groan, promising myself I wouldn't lift my head.

"I need to talk to you…please?" She insisted, and I heard her sit in the chair beside my bed.

"Can't we do this later?" I sneered, "Like when I have full control of my limbs?"

"Why?" She shot, "So you can run away?"

"No, not run." I spat. "And I was thinking more, kick you in the shins, then while you're contemplating the meaning of it, put you in a headlock that would suffocate you to the point that your eyes pop out of their sockets."

"How many times did you contemplate that?" She inquired.

"Just once actually, right now." I answered honestly.

"Creative." She mused.

"Thanks," I responded, "But my creativity doesn't change the fact that you threw me into a wall and broke my head."

"I know," She was quiet again now, and I noticed my breathing was becoming more laboured as I tried to stay calm. "I…I wasn't me – I didn't mean to…ugh…I…you know about my…feelings, I guess…I was just…touchy."

"Yeah, I noticed that."

"Ok, I'm trying to apologize – is the attitude really necessary right now?" She asked, pained, probably wishing she would just leave the hospital wing alive.

"You cracked my skull. I think my attitude has justification." I replied, wishing I could cross my arms.

"Could you at least look at me then?"

My arms folded under my pillow, and I considered. She risked coming here and getting her head bitten off, but was it out of desire, or guilt?

I turned my head finally, just enough to see her with my left eye; she was getting no further satisfaction than that.

"Thank you," She breathed, "I know, you have every right to be angry and snap and never forgive me – but I need you to know that I'm sorry; for everything. For attacking you, for arguing with you, for not…believing you."

Believing me?

"What did he do?" I asked quietly, looking down at the bed spread beneath me.

"The kindness was just an apology – the flowers, the smile…an act? I don't know. But it meant nothing to him. I was naïve and I wanted to believe that he could change…but…well, look where that got me." She dropped her head and ran her fingers through her hair as the word flowers echoed in my mind.

He'd given her the flowers.

"I told him, you know." I confessed, wondering if he had changed, just the tiniest bit. Maybe even experienced some sort of feeling for the first time?

"Told him what?" She asked, looking up again as I replied softly.

"Lilies are you favourite."

"You – what? Why?" She stuttered, confused.

"Just that once – on the pitch – he was different when he was with us; less guarded, less eager to show everyone that he was Slytherin." I looked up at her again, catching her gaze and holding it. "I saw him later, with Crabbe and Goyle – he was no different - talking about getting into Parkinson's pants. Maybe it was the crowd that made him different, or maybe it was you – but I didn't want to risk that it was an act. I couldn't see you hurt like that – so I said something. Harry said something. You were just stronger in your beliefs than I was."

"Stronger…in my beliefs? What do you mean?" She shook her head, biting her lip as she took a breath in. I couldn't read her expression from this angle – and that gladdened a part of me. I didn't want to see it if I had made her cry.

"That moment, on the pitch," I began, reaching out my left arm – happy for some sort of control – and taking her hand, forcing her to look at me. "I wanted to believe that he could change. For you."