::AN:: Bah, third chappie... I'm catching up with myself! (lol) Anyways, I hope you like and please review! (Thanks for all the reviews before...)
Chapter 3
I suppose the words "civilized manner" should have popped back into my head at some point or another, but at the time, I really didn't care.
Funny how that is. That happens to me all the time. You know, you'll be all caught up in the heat of the moment or what have you, and then later – an hour later, actually – when you're taking time to reflect, you'll wish you had said that little sarcastic remark you just came up with instead of just pouting like a three-year-old who had just gotten her lollipop taken away and going, "Well, yeah! So what?"
Like I did.
I was lounging on my bed again, sighing over my lame ability to "fight back" in those nasty verbal arguments I get into with my mother. You know, the ones where you think you totally know what you're talking about and how you so have the upper-hand in the little squabble, when suddenly your mother brings up the fact that you haven't exactly been at your home in five years, and that you don't have a say in anything that goes on, and that, yes, you will obey your older brother's wishes and do whatever he tells you to; unless he states otherwise, of course. It's pitiful, really, the way I "fight back." All I could do was kind of scoff at her in a 'dignity-at-all-times' manner and say what I've already told you I said – I shouted it really, which only further adds to the stupidosity of it all, since she was talking in a perfectly soothing voice as though none of this affected her one bit (I hate that) – and then turn on my heel and stomp all the way up to my bedroom.
And now I'm utterly exhausted, as it took me the better part of half-an-hour to get up here, since we were out in the rose gardens, which are downstairs on the first floor, obviously, (my room is on the fourth) and all the way on the other side of the manor. Damn architects. Whatever happened to those muggle elevators, hmm? We could really use a few of those, especially with these 'ugly-as-me-on-a-Saturday-morning-without-breakfast-and-proper-dental-and-beauty-care' shoes that mother insists I wear, even though I howl in pain every time I take more than five steps.
Stairs are hell, I tell you.
I should start a Muggle Appreciation group and petition for escalators like the ones I saw at that wonderfully large building with the many different stores inside it that time I visited America with Aunt Carolina, who we never speak of due to the fact that she's not really my aunt, but my brother's Godmother, who sort of disgraced our family by marrying a muggle (even though she's not, like, related to us). Shhhh! I beg of you! The sole honor of my family depends on your word that you WON'T TELL!
Or, better yet, tell everyone you know. You should even walk up to poor, innocent passersby in the street and go, "Did you know that Carolina Dippet disgraced that powerful wizard family when she married that highly intelligent and mad-funny muggle bloke, even though it shouldn't really matter that much since she's of no blood relation – that anyone cares to know of – to the family and she's only the eldest son's Godmother?!" Go ahead. My life could not possibly get any worse.
No.
No way did I just THINK that! No!
Do you know what happens when someone says something along the lines of "it couldn't possibly get any worse"?! It's like a mad, angry, unspeakable, horrendous, jinxed, cursed, hexed, horrible (go look up more adjectives if you're that interested) little phrase that no person, whether they be good, evil, English, foreign, tall, short, skinny, fat, plump, chubby, 'just right,' blonde, brunette, red-haired, chestnut, mahogany, any other color, blue-eyed, green-eyed, brown-eyed, violet-eyed, hazel-eyed, honey-eyed, red-eyed, white, black, brown, green, blue, pink, orange, yellow, yellow-green, purple…
What in Merlin's name was I even talking about?!
Oh, right.
You just don't SAY that! Ooh, but maybe it doesn't count, since I was only thinking…
… And looking frantically around my room while pacing feverishly and muttering, "No escape, no escape" over and over?
Do you know what HAPPENS when someone says, "Things couldn't possibly get any worse."?!
Yes, that's right, you're catching on to my rambling bits of nonsense/genius observings!
Right, folks. When you say that…
Things get worse.
They do indeed, get very, very worse.
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They got so worse that I refused to leave my room.
I was held up like a little Prisoner-of-War, all quiet and whimpering – like as though I was on my very last hope of making it out… alive…
Well, except for the fact that I was being held up of my own free will. And that there were actually people outside of my bedroom door, trying desperately to persuade me to come out in between consistent banging on the door.
But I am a witch. I am from an honorable, pureblood family.
Most of all, I am stubborn. I do not back down. And if I don't want anyone in my room – or for myself to leave my room, for that matter – then it wasn't going to happen. That was that.
Unfortunately, my brother happens to be a wizard. And I am not as smart as he is, apparently, he seemed to finally developed a brain as I heard him growl "Alohamora" from the other side of the door.
Oh. Oh yeah?! You think you're so cool now, huh?! Being all big and tough and going, "Alohamora" at the big hunk of wood in the wall – cement, I mean… Or whatever the heck my door is made out of! You're sooo cool now oh brother of mine!
Gah, I could hurt him. Really I could.
Which is why I attempted to, by hiding around the door as he opened it, and then pouncing on his back like a rabid animal as soon as he stepped into view.
"I am not going to Hogwarts!" I shrieked, not caring how childish I was being. I did not, under any circumstances, want to attend a school that I had purposefully been avoiding for the past five years of my life.
It is five, right? I mean… I'm fifteen. It might actually only be four years, technically, but…
Oh, do shut up, brain!
"Geroffomeyoumadwoman!" My brother managed to grumble in my general direction as he struggled for breath underneath my mere hundred-pound body.
"You deserve all you get!" I hollered into his ear, fully aware that his ear was right near my mouth and no, I didn't really have to shout, but not caring nonetheless. "You're a spoiled git with shiny hair and too-clear skin! You're a freak! You freaky-deeky freak!"
I don't think I previously mentioned how horrible I am at arguments.
I'm horrible at arguments.
And comebacks. Thus the lame-as-lame-can-get "freaky-deeky" comment. Honestly, you'd think that with my family, I'd have that witty way of being totally cruel and uncaring and being completely and utterly indifferent to your surroundings and…
Did I mention that I also have this crazy tendency to attack things? One of the guys I knew back at Durmstrang said it was something to do with sexual frustration, but then again I think he was just trying to get down my pants. Luckily, that was the one time I managed to keep my cool and I just smiled sweetly and said, "Oh, do sod off you big oaf."
My whole train of thought was rudely interrupted by my own scream as I was tossed a million feet into the air and then shoved three hundred kilometers across the floor.
Well, okay, my brother shoved me off of him and I kind of slid on the floor for a few milliseconds. But it seemed like my exaggeration bit of it all the same. (I shoot raspberries at you, you great big ninny!)
"Get a hold of yourself, you worm." My oh-so-loving brother hissed at me. "We have to leave in a quarter of an hour and you better be ready!" And with that he stomped out of my room, leaving me to be whipped violently in the face by his robes as he turned and left.
How does he make his robes do that? My robes don't do that, do they? No, they don't!
In an 'I-wish-I-had-dignity-at-all-times' moment, I stood up as quickly as I could – disregarding the split second where my feet got tangled in each other and I fell face-first into the floor, letting out another ear-splitting screech – and followed my brother out the door and halfway down the hall, where I had to stop due to the throbbing pain in my feet.
"Oh, you think you're so cool!" I shouted at his retreating figure. "Why can't you just say 'fifteen minutes' like any normal person?! Quarter of an hour, I ask you! Who do you think you are?! Homer?!"
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My life is the pits.
Pits, I tell you.
Mother seemed to think we'd be perfectly fine on our own, so we left for the lame-o Hogwarts ChooChoo Train or whatever it's called.
My favorite (and only) brother decided to ditch me A.S.A.P. All he did was pretend to stare off at something and then hiss out of the corner of his mouth, "I'll find you if I need to speak to you. Just sit somewhere and wait like a good girl for once and you'll be fine."
"And if I don't?" I asked, obviously curious as to what he would do.
His reply was, "I'll hex you into next Tuesday."
Of course, I just stared at him and said, "Time travel is illegal."
I know, I know, that's not what he meant!
Well, I mean… I know that now…
So, anyway, I'm just sitting here in this compartment-thing and kind of leaning my head against the window. This is so boring.
I turned my head when I heard a small noise, only to find that the compartment door was opening.