Chapter Seven
The Journey Begins
"Poppy, if you do not let me out of this bed, I'm going to lose my mind."
A petite coarse hand removed itself from Reign's forehead. Its owner chuckled.
"I know, I know. But we can never be too sure." She reached for a liquid remedy on the table, and grabbed the spoon lying next to it also. Reign's face contorted as the nurse shoved the foul potion down her throat. She spat and coughed when it had slid down into her stomach, burning the whole way.
"Honestly," she gasped, "you'd think that with all your magic, you could manage to concoct a better flavor for your medications." Poppy laughed again.
"If that was the case, everyone would have their own medicine, and I'd be out of the job." Reign shook her head. She was right. She reached for a glass of water to wash the sickening taste from her tongue, but was disappointed to find her water had warmed overnight. She spat the liquid back into her glass and slammed it down on the table. Poppy, meanwhile, was checking over her wounds. She still had a rather large scar on the side of her abdomen. But that, Poppy figured, she would always have. She also had a few minor scratches on her hands and above her right eye. It made her look as if she was constantly scowling, even if she wasn't. At the moment, however, she was. The nurse twisted and pressed into Reign's muscles, asking if anything still hurt. They did, everything did, but Reign refused to admit it. Despite her fondness of Madam Pomfrey, she longed to get up and move again.
"For the hundredth time, Poppy, I'm fine. Really--" she winced as the woman poked at her calf. Madam Pomfrey's head shot up, a delightful expression crossing her face. Luckily Reign recovered quickly, and the woman's smirk faded quickly. She sighed and let go of her tender leg, and wiped her hands on her apron. Reign could tell she was disappointed.
As she gathered her things, she said reluctantly, "Well, I suppose you're well enough to leave." Reign practically leapt from her bed. "But--" Her joy was suppressed. She braced herself as the woman continued. "If anything starts to hurt," she penetrated her eyes, taking on a very serious tone, "and I mean anything, you'd better get your tail back here immediately. Understood?" Reign smiled.
"You have my word."
Madam Pomfrey finished packing her equipment, and Reign helped gather her sheets for the wash. As the nurse collected them, Reign stared down at her new pajamas. New, perhaps, was an understatement. They were new to her, but to the world they were old. A pair of blue-striped flood pants and matching long-sleeved shirt covered her body. They smelled musky, which she presumed as them belonging to a male. She wrinkled her nose, but she had no other clothing to wear. She didn't even have shoes.
"Oh yeah," Poppy said, her voice muffled through the pile of sheets. She managed to pull out a slip of paper from her apron and handed it to Reign. "Professor Dumbledore said there would be clothes for you in your room." She shifted the load in order to meet Reign's eyes. "Good luck." Reign looked at her with her eyebrow slightly raised. Poppy winked, and turned around. Shuffling the whole way through the room, and out a door on the other side, she left Reign standing in the Infirmary, with directions to her new home.
***
Reign felt like a complete idiot walking around the school barefoot and in pajamas. She was so glad that Poppy had released her when classes were still in session. She probably would not have been able to live with herself if any of the students had caught her in her present state. But because she wasn't sure when classes were let out, she walked quickly to her destination, following the Headmaster's directions with a deadly accuracy. She stalked silently through the dimly lit halls and up the moving staircases, stopping only if she heard footsteps.
This happened on one very frightful occasion, and she threw herself up against the wall, paralyzed. Her ears perked as she listened for signs of movement. She heard them, soft and stealthy, coming from an adjacent hall. She peered around a corner and spotted Hogwarts' caretaker, Mr. Filch, sulking down the corridor with his faithful cat, Mrs. Norris, leading the way. She acted quickly—bounding up the steps and into the next opening—just as Filch poked his head into the main stairwell, sniffing and scanning for stray students. Once he was satisfied that there weren't any victims, he retracted his head and continued on his way.
When she was sure he was gone Reign released the breath she had been holding. Her heartbeat fell to a normal pace, and her hands stopped their shaking. She picked up the paper, ripped from her hands in the heat of the moment, and residing a few steps below her. She rubbed a sore spot on her lower back as she rose up. She felt old, and realized she looked it too, with throwing out her back like she had. She laughed in spite of herself. But it was a cautious laugh, for she was unsure that her strength would ever fully return to her.
She had ducked into the correct hall, and proceeded north on the seventh floor. She passed a painting that she knew to be quite familiar, though it took her awhile to place it. A plump woman sat sleeping in the portrait, snoring noisily with every inhalation. Reign stepped slowly up to the wall, careful not to disturb the lady. She caressed the golden frame, trying to remember what significance it had in her life. She ran her hands up and down as she closed her eyes. She saw, in the darkness of her lids, the swirling colors of crimson and gold. She fell into the powerful colors, inviting and spellbinding. As she fell, her ears picked up a noise. She heard, from the depths of her mind, a mighty roar. It was brave and courageous, but it frightened her. It was something that she had tried to be like, something that had failed her, and something that she was too scared to be like again. Her eyes sprang open and she jumped from the wall, breathing heavy. The lady was still asleep. The Fat Lady of Gryffindor Tower.
A nervous smile spread her lips as she swept passed the portrait and onward toward her destination. As she walked, a light wind rustled her hair. She twisted to meet its source—an open window to her left. As she turned, her hand flew to her eyes, which were being attacked by the harsh sunlight. She stepped toward the window and tripped over a loose stone in the floor. Her hands flew out to catch hold of anything. They caught the windowsill, and a good thing they did—anything lower and Reign's head would have met an ugly fate on the cold stone ground. She pulled herself up and steadied her body against the wall below the window. The birds were no longer singing, but merely chirping. The grass was dry: the breeze, warm. Reign looked up into the sky, and her eyes fell upon a cloudless void. For as far as she could see there was nothing but peace in the world.
She rotated from the window and went on her way, leaving it open to the corridor. At last she came upon a great oak door. It was eight feet tall and rounded at the top. The brass handle was cool in her palm as she pushed the gate open and walked into her new home.
***
NOTE: Thank you for your reviews. I know what you are thinking, "Get on with it already!" *Laughs devilishly* I'm going as fast as I can!
