In the early morning hours, not too soon after the sun rises in spring, dew coats the grass and shrouds the greenery. A warm, gentle sunlight coaxes the world into tentative action. Birds chirp; animals awaken. The trees and shrubs stand still as there is no wind. Not yet. It's a brief lapse between time and the rest of the world. Most people are still sleeping by this hour, or some are just beginning to rouse. The morning mist so commonly accompanies the sunrise, rolling off the green hills, taking the sunlight in with it, almost seeming like clouds moving in on the ground. It's not too hot, and not too cold. The world is only yet still damp by the dew. The insects of the night have long since ceased their noises. The world stands still. Time stands still. Our bleak outlooks on fate and destiny are postponed and overwritten, and we recover. There are times to think, and to think expressively; this is not one of them. This is a time to admire the stillness of the water. To witness the settling hourglass. To see beyond what we deem acceptable and normal, or otherwise content. To realize change and admit grudging relent. Sometimes I have to wonder if sapience is truly the best thing. Surely, inventions are made. Memories are forged and legends are created. But that only leads me to a topic I would earnestly avoid: How do we remember? Who carries our legacy? When do we begin to keep name and lose face? When do we fade and lose our own personal touch? When will they forget? For the famous people, that isn't much of an option. For me, no. But I refer to the more personal sense. The people I know. The people who know me as me. The world is a cycle. Every once in a while, you will have these mornings. They aren't one to pass up. And most certainly, not one to think of your own mortal existence by. Lesson number 1: Read and comprehend instructions. I'll be sure to come back and note this frequently for those of you who struggle. Don't worry, you'll get it eventually.
But mostly, I'd have to say life scares me. And it isn't because of magic, although that does serve to make it more dangerous. While we're in this vein of thought, why not continue? With danger comes competition. With competition comes trust and bravery and recklessness and courage. Friendship. Family, even. People come to depend on you. But such a thing worries me more than I'd care to admit. After so long, worrying about others fades. You don't care anymore. What matters is you. Your name. Your image. Your stance on certain subjects. What outfit you wore to a certain place on whatever day, and whether you're making a statement by wearing it. If the vague greens in your shirt are a subtle indication you're turning Slytherin, and not just because you like the color green or because it reminds you of your mother. Journalism is a lie. Some of them risk it all for their story. To get it out to the public and make it be seen. Others are fraudulent scams. Over the years, I've heard a great many times something along the lines of "Not hate, strongly dislike" to try and dissuade me from negativity. But what is the difference? Dislike turns to hate. And you will hate someone in your life, for something as trivial as being left-handed or using more salt than pepper. The world isn't a black-and-white thing. We are subject to our morals. I truly do hate that phrase. People will make it their sole objective to fuck with you in some shape or manner, oftentimes for no reason. Looking back, it was a wonder I ever made friends. I guess childhood isn't so jaded. Becoming a teen isn't necessarily being jaded, but that is definitely a significant portion. From the majority of adults in my life so far, I would hazard a guess as to say that becoming an adult isn't embodying this idea, but rather integrating it as a part of you, because everyone will always be that way at some moment. Nonetheless, wherever you are, whoever you are, you will have and face opposition. You will grow to hate them. I guess Death Eaters were my boogeymen,
closely followed by Vernon Dursley. And dementors, too. Nasty buggers. Throw in a boggart there too, somewhere. Those fucking things...
Unfortunately for you, I will not continue making my list, dotting my I's and crossing my T's. This is not Defence. I am not a Professor. Go somewhere else. My point here is that life sucks. And my extensive word use here reminds me of the essays I have to write, and the long essays I commonly have to meet by some stupid date. I would hate to teach. I mean, to really teach. Planning out the course for the year, keeping things on track. If I can't make my bed and keep my friends in gear, what makes you think I could do that? Or kill Voldemort? Speaking of killing Voldemort, does it have to be kill, per se? Can we negotiate on the wording? How about 'dispose' or 'neutralize' or 'make him fuck off'? Seriously, all for it. As shocking as it may be to believe, I like living. You know, it's great not being a martyr for someone else and their beliefs. The ultimate sacrifice is not on my radar anytime soon. Some cunt with an absent nose will not make me suicidal. If I'm going to be suicidal, I'd have to pick the essay lengths as my main focus point. Maybe they'd ease up? That's my legacy, right there.
And that's my journal entry, right there.
To my bitter dismay, people either could not or did not want to leave me alone. It had to be God or Merlin or some supernatural force (the powers that be?) shitting on me. "Hey, loser," A familiar male voice shouted rudely from the stairs of the Astronomy Tower.
"Whaddaya want, git?" Actually, that was a little weak. Let me try again. I got up and strode over to the opening.
Two of the Fantastic Four looked at me. Guess who.
"It's almost time for Quidditch. What the hell are you doing up here, anyway?"
"Thinking of how to make you not such an inconsiderate prick. I know what today is. Next time I need a calendar, I know where to go. Thank you, goodbye." I put a Silencing charm on the both of them and sat to relax.
It wasn't long before there was this ever so faint screeching. Not screeching... Something. Squeaking? Scrunching? Squawking? Squealing? Before I could properly narrow down the proper term for the proper disruptive sounds, I turned and looked over my shoulder.
"You got a vein bulging out your head there, mate. That isn't healthy. Go see Pomfrey. I'm not joking. That thing is throbbing and pulsing. Please. If this is how you look showing moderate effort, I don't think I want you to be on my Quidditch team. Fuck, pal, it pulses." I graciously informed James. What a guy. Lovable bloke, to be sure.
I dispelled the Silencer.
"I am going to find all the dictionaries or encyclopedias or whatever like that, make an entry with your name, and cross out the current definition for 'complete living arsehole'." James seethed.
"Sure. What time is the game?"
"A little after--"
"-Hot damn! Calendar and a watch? Look at you! You are truly astounding, Jamie boy. Dear Merlin, I am in awe at your presence."
He simply glared at me in response. Sirius had not dared to say a word, but slowly got red through this exchange.
"Come on. We're having a last minute match before the game. If we hurry up, they won't know we didn't reserve the Pitch beforehand. Come on," James urged me, waving a hand in my direction.
I didn't want to. And still, I didn't want to explain why I didn't want to go, either. So, I did what best came to mind.
I slapped his hand away. "Fuck your match," I said rudely in response. "I'll be down when I come down."
See that? That isn't "I'll come with you and practice". It isn't "I'll go get ready and meet you for the game". With such a vague answer, I might not come down for hours. A nifty trick. I use it often.
"Fine. Whatever. If you fuck up, I'm not saving your arse," My dad promised before he and Sirius left.
Note, dear readers, that Sirius didn't say he wouldn't. It's the little things.
However, I don't need practice to grab a ball. Besides, it was a couple hours from now at most. Whatever practice they got in would hardly really be worth it. Unfortunately, those couple hours passed pretty quickly. Really quickly. I could've blinked. Then, I did, and I was along with all of the others on the Pitch. Only, it wasn't for practice. There were indeed crowds roaring. Just like my Hogwarts. Except they're all vindictive bastards any other time. Usually when they're not winning. Who am I kidding? Are we any better? Well, were, I guess. Oh, well. Time to see how these brooms shape up. Still Cleansweeps? I didn't pay attention. I don't really care. The point is that it flies. It isn't a Firebolt. Now that was fast. Oh, yeah.
There were minor changes to the Quidditch uniforms. Nothing big, honestly. They still looked dapper. That's one of the great touches about Quidditch. You get to kick ass, and look good doing it! ...Most of the time. But we won't focus on that today. We're gonna focus on who we're actually facing from the other team, or the Slytherins.
"Hey," I nudged James. "Who are we facing? Who's on their team?" I nodded to the Slytherins. James raised an eyebrow. "Uhhh, mostly no-names, as far as you're concerned. Avery, I think a distant Black? It really doesn't matter, Caldwell. I know who you have your eyes on, you shite," He grinned a lopsided grin at me. "The Lestranges aren't on the team." He announced to my immediate satisfaction. "Why?" I had to ask.
His grin got wider. "Grades. In order to make the team, Caldwell. You gotta make grades, too. Or your Head of House starts pushing down on you," He mimicked the gesture. "Til you get booted off. Then you have to improve your marks, come crawling back... A whole clusterfuck, let me tell you. But I luckily never had that problem. Surprised? Be that as it may, I did relatively well enough to stay on. I like Quidditch, Caldwell."
I frowned. "Uhhh, yeah," I uttered dumbly.
Whoever was the current professor for the class stood in as announcer, or referee, rather. She held a miniature white flag in her hand. Wait... Was that Hooch? Can't be. I know she's old, but... No. Yeah, let's come back to this later when I don't have to go up against a whole team I know next to nothing about. Apart from Avery. A Death Eater. Or related to one. And a maybe distant Black? Food for thought, to be sure.
The professor bent over slowly, lowering the flag in her hand. The both of us waited and waited and waited. The tension built. We all stood with our feet dug in the dirt, ready to liftoff. "And... BEGIN!" She yelled, officially starting the first Quidditch game of the year. I only felt anticipation gnawing at me. Anticipation and adrenaline. A weird mix. Our team hurriedly huddled around each other in the air, only with enough time to make last second adjustments and plan accordingly. James leaned over as best as he could on his broom. "Caldwell, remember. Catch the Snitch!" He reminded me as he flew away to guard the goals with Sirius. Wait, what did they both do, again? Wait, I just remembered that it isn't my problem. Setting my sights on the Pitch and everything around and within it, my hunt to find the Snitch commenced.
Slowly, slowly, the Slytherin Seeker crept up to me. It was common practice for some to do so. To see this done back in the 70's wasn't that much of a shock. If you were right next to your opposition, it was more fair, than if say, you were on opposite ends of the field and they saw the Snitch on their side. See how it works? And you can even exchange some witty banter and look like a dick. Even better!
"Hey, buddy, fuck you," I said as those thoughts came to mind. Wait, should I be saying that to a Death Eater? Was this the Death Eater? Shite! I didn't ask James who their Seeker was! Uggghhhhh. Doesn't matter.
"What's your deal, new boy?" My counterpart wondered idly as we both swept the field and Quidditch Pitch equally. Below us, one of the teams scored. I couldn't tell who. Sneaking a look at the part cheering, I sensed it was a Gryffindor goal. "It's just hard for me to come to terms with the fact that you are the Seeker. I mean, who are you?" I retorted, the irony not lost on me. It was quite funny, because I'm apparently fresh meat here.
"Who am I? Who are you?" The Slytherin Seeker bit back somewhat angrily.
A flash of circular gold moving in the air caught my eye. It was a little to the right side of him. He hadn't noticed yet, my verbal barbs distracting him. "Winner of the first Quidditch match of the year!" I soared happily past him, picking up speed and picking up speed, faster and faster. It wasn't long before he got the idea and trailed me. It also wasn't good that I was acting as the windbreak here. He could potentially gain on me if he kept dead behind. Not good.
The Snitch darted away, hiding near the announcer's. I sharply turned left, trying to get the Slytherin off of me. Once again, the crowd cheered in delight. I didn't bother checking who got it. I was more concerned with our potential game-ender right here. Just then, the fucker crept up on me more and more before reaching out a hand and grabbing onto my coattails. What the hell? Did he have any idea how dangerous that is? "Alright, you git," I taunted as I bobbed and weaved. His grip loosened and twisted, pulling back on me as much as I tried to shake him off. "What the fuck are you doing, man?" I yelled over my shoulder against the harsh high winds. The Snitch flew here and fro as the both of us got closer. It was just a handful of meters. Come on, come on. I outstretched my arm, tentatively letting go of the broom and holding on with one hand. My mistake. Whilst I was in the middle of ignoring my new arse end, he had some tricks up his sleeve. Actually, turns out that's literal. I felt a weird sense in the back of the broom. Then, a tightening, like he was grabbing on with all of his strength. Just what is he doing? Hanging the match? If they see what he's doing, it could be very close to their loss. Can't fuck about like that. Glad to see Slytherin House hasn't changed a bit.
The Snitch was just outside my hand. I could almost touch the thing...
"No!" I cried as something happened. Where before, I was steadily gaining on the ball, something behind me jerked. "You're gonna lose the match, you fuckin' idiot!" I screamed at the top of my lungs when it became easily apparent that I was hanging upside down. By one hand.
And in the Slytherin's hand, he held the Snitch.
"No, I won't," He said to obvious fanfare thrice as loud as what it was. I swallowed a hard swallow. I looked up to see a sturdy rope tied between the two of our brooms. So, what? He hurried up and jerked me back? Dick. "W-what do you mean?" I hesitated to ask, fearing the answer. We weren't that high. Someone had to see this going on! Unless the ref was paid off? No, no, other people would see and it would be declared totally unfair. He smirked at me. I felt a deep anger rise within me as I dangled underneath his smug countenance. "What do you mean?!" I said again.
My new nemesis nodded down to the Slytherin part of the stands, where they were all standing and screaming their lungs out for glorious Slytherin. No, wait... Not all. One form was particularly hunched and standing, but more importantly different from the others. Their attention was in the air. Towards us? Oh, I see. Quirrel part 2? I guess it works.
"Oh, you shite," I glowered as he all but pulled me up.
"See that? I help you up from a what-could've-been very bad accident, and we both return to the ground. Happy ending, yes?" I never hated a smiling face as much as I do now. And I don't even know his name. Damn.
No, there was something more. Especially with how that guy was looking. I would hardly be able to get on my broom, much less make it back. A wave of fear came through me. The Slytherin Seeker patted me on the back heartily and left me alone.
They had to wonder what I was doing up here, still. They had to think there was a problem. Nobody was coming, yet. I just had to wait. It would be somewhat embarrassing, sure, but I could make it out of this. Maybe. Hopefully.
I waited, and waited, and waited.
Body language is a wonderful thing. As I held onto my broom for dear life, the many hordes of students in the stands and on the field began to look irritated. Oh, well. What would you do in this situation? And as one of the Gryffindors mounted his broom to come rescue me from what must be mortal doom, I felt a very slight twitch in my broom. So slight, in fact, that I thought I imagined it. Then, some seconds later, it happened again. And again. No. No. No. No. No. Fuck!
I started inching forward, slowly, gently. The broom was being fucked with. I had to get down, now! It shook so much, it reminded me of the few times Vernon had car trouble. I smirked a little as I tried not to think about the fact I was pretty high up right now.
Who was coming...? James? Sirius? No, no, Sirius isn't. He's there, broom in hand, but James is the one coming up here. Must be if it gets worse. I sighed. How could it get worse?
I felt like I had a really horrible case of Parkinson's as I shook and trembled more and more, struggling to keep the broom under me. It was a losing battle. I got turned around, dived, did circles, anything to keep me from my ultimate goal of descending. "James! James!" I shouted. "Get me off!" I pleaded.
"What? Let's go, Caldwell! The game is over! Come on!" James seemed to not get it. To be fair, I guess this would have to happen to you for you to get it right away. "No! The broom-" My breath was forced out of me as the broom hastily jerked upwards. There wasn't a good solution here. What do I do? What could I do? Fuck. Fuck. Shite. "James!" I shouted once more. My father was keeping up with me well enough. "Catch me!" I yelled. What a fucking dumb idea. But he won't come get me. I had to try something.
"What?!" He yelled back. "Catch you? Just come down, man!"
"Can't! Help!" I said back. I did my best to put aside my pounding heart that I could hear and feel and worry about if it would stop. I undid my legs, putting them on one side of the wonky broom. Shite. Not good. This is not good for balance. Oh, no. No. No. Had to go now. Now. Now. NOW!
"James!" I cried as we both thrust out our arms. His fingers grazed mine as I sailed downwards. Would there be someone else? Was I high enough to make it? To not make it? Surely something would break. There wasn't a way that something wouldn't. But that shite got what he wanted. A win, me looking like a complete arse and me out of the game for at least a while. If not permanently.
The ground twisted and whirled, trading places with the sky. All this spinning and wheeling would ordinarily make me horribly dizzy, but now I just felt afraid. Afraid, weightless, chucked through the air like a feather. Like a feather swinging side to side, eventually landing...
Eventually landing...
It would be too late to do that thing skydivers do. Where they flatten out, put their arms and hands out. But it felt long to me. Long but also short. Is such a thing possible? It's such a stupid thing to say, but how many people do you know that took a dive? Now you have some idea. This journal idea is a fucking mess...
I've come across stories and heard about people seeing things. For example, if someone got so angry they actually saw red. It isn't very believable, is it? Well, there's a version of that for pain. Even if you close your eyes. For me, it was whiteness. And not a comfortable whiteness. I was falling. Falling. Falling, and then not. I was past the instant pain. What I mostly felt was what came after. The loss of feeling in limbs. Not being able to really use them. Whichever of them, anyway. I hadn't planned on trying to move. The ground hurt, but it was also reassuring. Relaxing, a little. Because then I knew I'd fallen. I wasn't dead. Maybe someone knew some sort of cushion Charm? Was there one? Had to be... That was high. I don't know. I don't care, either. There was awful screaming and yelling and just a general ruckus. Why wouldn't there be? It was still annoying. Not at that moment. At that moment, I couldn't think. The act of existing in those few seconds was all that I could bear. Saying 'It hurt' doesn't do it any sort of justice at all, but what do you want me to tell you? When it was a little calmer in my mind, and I'd come to bear, that face entered my head. That smug smirk. Malfoy wished he was him. Malfoy was nothing compared to that. Laying there, grunting, gasping, I never wished for anyone more. Can you believe that?
I heard something familiar in the crowd. Then it was repeated, repeated, repeated. Hair. Hare. Hairy. My name. But who? James? Sirius? A teacher? No, no, teachers don't really do first names... Had to be someone that knew me... You know how when you wake up and have to go through your day on little to no sleep? You close your eyes for what seem like a handful of seconds, only to turn into minutes? I guess I could call it spacing out. But I also didn't want to close my eyes then. What if I somehow fell asleep? I suppose I did, if things changed so quickly. Then, my friends were all around me, with the ref. Only, the ref wasn't liking it; however, neither did they. But she eventually budged. It would be better against the crowd to have people, I guess. I floated. It was a ginger time, coming off the ground. Someone was lifting me slowly. But I had already made the decision that, indeed, the ground made for a nice resting place. And when it left my back, those areas made themselves known once more, roaring to me at new heights. "J...Jay," I murmured, seeing his face stare worriedly back. "-mes. Bad. Bad broom." Telling him made me feel better. It let me have one less pressing issue. Although, having someone whisper to you amidst that commotion... He never heard me.
I was floated away. The wind touched my body as they walked me off. When it hurts from the air, it's bad. I didn't want anything. I wanted the Hospital Wing to be next to me. I wanted to be Apparated. No. No, no I didn't. Did I? One moment of squeezing... I would be there. I was still debating it heavily, even as the doors were pushed open with my small party delivering us. Whoever ran the Wing took care of me. Raising just as well a commotion as was outside, by the way. Who was it? Pomfrey? Was Pomfrey that old? I think so. It doesn't matter. What mattered was my bones. What was broken. And what remained. Which served to remind me of my friends. And an outlier, at that.
Just by the door was that outlier. Well, not for me, I suppose. For everyone else, absolutely. For public image, it was a murky subject. For inter-House unity, you can guess. Don't you know the answer to that by now?
And don't you know people do stupid things? I'm a wonderful example, by previous excerpts here. Funny, isn't it? But I guess she was my friend. In a strange, weird manner, there was a relationship. Because of how we were? Our personalities? Honestly, ruminating over tentative new bonds wasn't on my list. What was, well, suffice it to say I wanted to move. In prior moments, struggling to stay awake, to keep my eyes open was no more. I was wide awake. Thrashing. Making myself heard just as well as my back and broken, tormented body did. The two of us, body and mind, rebelled against that green and silver. It wasn't some neutrality anymore; it was pain. Deceit. Malice. Torture. "Gh! Hhugh. Fuck," I groaned painfully through clenched teeth and pursed lips. The mediwitch was still waving her wand, casting spells, diagnosing what all was wrong. James and Sirius were still here. The Quidditch woman. Some other students, too? Gryffindors. I recognized some from the team. Only faces. No names. I had only one name in my mind. One emblem. That became my mind. They all quieted once I vocalized. "Harry, are you okay?" Sirius asked quickly.
"Grh. No. No, I'm not. Get the fuck out of here, please. Please, for the love of Merlin. Go," I pleaded. "And take her with you."
"Her?"
They looked for a potential 'her' I had to have been addressing. Sirius' face set into a nasty grimace. James frowned. "Harry-" He tried.
"James, I don't give a fuck!" I cried, then moaned as the instinctive retort wreaked havoc on me. I laid down, as much as I could with the nurse restraining me from my agitation. Her firm order backed up my resolute plea, and they were told in very certain terms to leave. "It's astonishing how much I don't care right now," I said. "You can come back later. Fuck off. Just fuck off. I need to be told how limited my future is." Wait. We have magic. Can magic fix such things? Even if they could, would I be able to play, still? Quidditch regulations and everyday life were two very different things. All because of some fuckhead from Slytherin. Slytherin...
They were on their way out the door. She wasn't. Bellatrix didn't respond to their incessant pestering, and my father gave in. Good to see women didn't change. There she stood, hanging by the entrance. The nurse fixed her glare at the petulant girl, but neither said a word. Bellatrix crossed her arms and looked away. It was a timid balance. One I had to break.
"Will you tell me what's wrong?" I forced myself to ask what had to be one of the hardest questions in my life. "What's wrong with me?" I whispered. Couldn't flex my fingers. Couldn't twitch my toes. Was it her or me? "Please." I begged. Finally, the strict matron stopped surveying her spells and looked me in the eyes. "It was a big fall, Mr. Caldwell. You have... lots of fractures," She hesitantly informed me. Some healing spell she used had a numbing effect. It was calming, but also made me slightly anxious. What was she numbing? "Fractures all over. There are bad tendons and ligaments as well, but it's mostly fractures. And of those, nasty breaks to boot. One in your left hand. A cracked knee. A broken leg. There's a list I could write. But I'll stop here. For what come with the fractures are micro-fractures. So, smaller breaks along with the bigger one. They shouldn't be an issue, Mr. Caldwell." She summarized. I remembered to breath. "We have Skele-Gro. There are more such remedies, but one of the most successful methods is to remove afflicted bones and regrow them, which is what this does. Now, according to your file, Mr. Caldwell, the Headmaster is your magical guardian," She probed. I nodded very minutely. "Yes. He shouldn't have an issue with it. I don't, either. I've had to have Skele-Gro before, unfortunately," I told her. "Oh?" She looked up at me. "Another Quidditch accident," I waved it away.
"Ah. Sounds like more practice, maybe, Mr. Caldwell? Not anytime soon, surely. Certainly not for a month or so. And while we're at it, that's practice. I don't want you on the team until after hols." She set the deadline, looking down her nose at me.
"Christmas?" I openly gaped. "Fine. Alright. Thank you, Miss..."
"Pomfrey, Mr. Caldwell," She said, to my non-surprise. She did look like her. Now, as to the Flying Professor... Hooch? Couldn't be. "Thank you, Ms. Pomfrey," I thanked her much. So I would be able to. Of course, why wouldn't I? Well, that was according to the matron. What about the team? The team might say 'Fuck you, bye' to me for all I knew. And if they did, so what? I wasn't even sure if I wanted to play, if that's what Slytherin had in their ranks. Fuck.
"You'll be here at least a week," Pomfrey returned. "At least, Mr. Caldwell. The way this looks, with all the Skele-Gro involved, oh yes. At least a week." She frowned. The sight was eery. A younger Pomfrey.
"Your visiting hours are a little past classes and a little before. For the regular students to make time, you understand. Have some of them bring what you miss in. I have no complaints there. Obviously, don't do it tomorrow with your bone in the middle of growing back..." She trailed off. Yes, yes, right. What kind of idiot did she take me for? But it probably had to be said. I must say, if you walk into a public bathroom and see a 'No diving' sign on a sink, it's there for a reason. People are fucking nutters.
"Yes, yes, I won't," I promised. "Do you have some sort of sleep aid? It's afternoon, I know, but I'm not entirely certain I want to be awake currently." I admitted awkwardly, chuckling to myself.
The mediwitch grinned a tiny grin. I was mildly shocked. She has a sense of humor? Must be a tough thing in a place like this. "I'm well aware of the feeling, Mr. Caldwell. I'll be right back. Just so you know, I've put some manner of shield around your bed. So you don't fall or slide off or run off. Just a moment, Mr. Caldwell," She repeated, leaving me there.
I swear, what kind of fucking retards end up here? If you have broken limbs and you try to run around, there has to be something not adding up. However, it was still a good precaution against sliding. I moved around in my sleep. Tonight, hahaha. Maybe not. In my lapse, the nightmare that was Bellatrix lurked closer. "How the hell did you manage that, Potter?" I heard from the wall. I didn't look. I only sighed. "What ever happened to youngest Seeker in a century?" She went on. "Quirrel part two happened, that's what," I hissed back. "Now, would you kindly? She's coming back!" I warned.
"Someone cursed your broom?" Bellatrix gasped. Wait, she has concern for another human? Wait, wait. She feels concern? Wait, wait, wait. Bellatrix is human? I about gasped, myself. "Black, please. I don't want to see, hear, or otherwise have Slytherin around me right now. I'm sure you can understand. We can have our dueling lessons later. I'm mildly indisposed at the moment. Now, if you would..."
The door to her office creaked as the matron came back finally with what I dearly hoped to be a knockout drug cocktail. That was one thing that didn't change between Muggle and Magical worlds. They could both fuck you up and set your shite straight, and I was treading that balance. Time to fucking pass out! Oh, yeah! I mentally pumped a fist, a little bummed I couldn't physically. Fucking Slytherins...
Was she still here? "Thank you," I said once again, taking the proffered medicine. "If you need it tomorrow or in the night, shake the rail," Pomfrey instructed. "It informs me if a patient needs assistance or is unruly. There are sometimes false alarms, but I will indeed come." She told me. Interesting. Wait. How would I shake it? Oh, my other arm. Silly me.
"And your water," She went a step further and fed me it. Fed me it? Gave me it. You know, held it for me to drink. You know what, fuck you. I'm writing this. So, I drank the water and swallowed the stuff. I guess medicine doesn't change that much. Sounds like a risky business. Would you want to experiment with it? I sure wouldn't. Now, a Slytherin held hostage...
My dark thoughts aside, I thought some shadow stood near my bed as I drifted off. It worked fast. Fast enough to drive away my rising concern and fast enough to hammer my eyelids down to unforgiving blackness.