A/N: Aah. shields self from angry readers Sorry. Cringe. Good news is, though, that exams are over and holidays are beginning very soon (like two days soon). Thanks so much for all the e-mails I got during downtime...pissed-off demands for updates included. You people motivate me; feel the love. Heeeeeeere's Katie!
Katie's POVChapter Twenty: Boss, Floss, Gloss, Moss, Albatross
This is the first day of my last days.
"But it's Friday.
I built it up, now I take it apart. Climbed up real high, now fall down real far.
"Sounds painful.
"Angelina!
No need for me to stay.
"If you stay in this miserable depressing rut a second longer I am going to stuff my foot where the sun doesn't shine -
"Stop it!
The last thing left, I just threw it away.
"Damn right you did. What were you, stoned?
"Angelina Johnson!
"What?!
"You're not helping Katie feel any better!
"Oh, yeah? And how would you know?
"Katie, are you feeling any better?
"No.
"AHA!
"Because the both of you aren't listening to my masterpiece.
"Oh. Sorry, go on.
"That's not a masterpiece, that's a piece of
ANGELINA!
After Lene had finished beating the crap out of Angie Ð well, really she only hit her on the head with a pillow and proclaimed, "I beat the crap out of Angie!" and I was too depressed to say anything otherwise, I decided that my heartbreaking poem of tragedy and soul-crushing despair fell slightly short of the masterpiece mark and proceeded to burn it to a crisp with a brisk, Aestos!".
I looked over at Angie and Lene, both furiously scribbling on separate pieces of parchment in a bid to outdo each other in a poetry-writing competition.
Apparently, I am "their inspiration".
If only I could inspire myself that easily.
How did this competition get started, you ask? You know, I'm not even sure if I remember. Before this we were all sitting down trying to hatch sneaky master plans to get Oliver back Ð well maybe not all of us, maybe it was just the other two as I was too busy wallowing in my depressing poetry. And then the other two got into an argument because Lene told Angie to "shut your trap, you don't know what a masterpiece even is do you?", which led to Angie's "Oh you're one to talk, I could write sonnets around you so THERE, lame-hand", then "What kind of insult is lame-hand? You big slab of beef, you can't even speak properly let alone write", leading to "Well what's big slab of beef supposed to be then? A prize-winning ode to meat products?", and all this led to "I challenge youÉto a DUEL TO THE DEATH! With QUILLS!
Oh, right, that's how this got started.
Well it's not like anything they'll write will ever be as good as I could cook up in a moment of my darkest misery. That's why poets are so depressed all the time, you see, pain breeds words that rhyme.
I think I shall become a highly emotional poet for good. I will walk around with a permanent frown on my face, and black mascara with black lipstick and black nail polish and perhaps I'll even magick my wand black. Then I will be able to cry my heart out about Oliver leaving me for somebody who's going to make him very happy by having their beautiful, perfect, round, perfect, rosy, perfect, little, perfect, children and nobody will be able to stop me. So HAH.
Something tells me that maybe I shouldn't have incinerated my poem after all. I should have thrown it into a corner of the room! It would get mouldy and dusty as the years go by, unnoticed by all Ð and then one day, when I am long gone, a young witch or wizard with the Burning Soul of a poet in the very Slough of Despond that I am in at this very moment would find it, and be inspired by my words that would lead Future Young Depressed Poet of unspecified gender to greater things, like Recycle, Reduce and Reuse.
That will be the title of my next masterpiece.
Or perhaps Let's Sock That Ravenclaw Bitch.
Catchy.
"You guys, I'm not sticking around for this," I announced, getting up from my bed. "I'm going to go find that Lindsay girl and teach her who's boss." With a capital B. Boss.
"A rhyme that words with boss...I mean a word that rhymes with Ð floss!" Lene muttered distractedly.
"Or albatross," Angie volunteered, rather unhelpfully.
Nobody knows the trouble I've seen, nobody knows the sorrow. Because they're all too busy talking about albatrosses.
"See you on the flipside," I said to no one in particular, and left the room.
I stepped through the portrait of the Fat Lady to immediately be accosted by a beaming, shiny vision of sugar and honey and everything sweet.
"Hello," big smile, "will you purchase one of these magical cookies in support of my new donation drive to aid unwanted house-elves and give them jobs at Hogwarts?" More big smiles, gleam gleam shine shine somebody give this girl a toothpaste endorsement already.
"So...magical cookies, huh? What happened with that other drive you had going on Tuesday?
Barely a week at Hogwarts and already Lindsay's organizing her second donation drive.
"Oh, that was a GIGANTIC success, all thanks to the LARGELY cooperative student community at Hogwarts, who I thank HUGELY for their TREMENDOUS effort!
I would like to kick you BIGLY. Got a problem?
"Oh, and you know," Lindsay said in a sudden hushed tone with a conspiratorial wink, "these cookies aren't really magic. I just call them that because we all know the feeling of magic in our hearts that we get when we realize we've helped a poor soul in distress! Love, world peace and harmonyÉafter all, aren't those what magic's all about?
And I thought it was about waving a wand around and saying a few magic words.
"Lindsay! Hey!
"Oliver!
Crap!
Oliver stopped short when he saw me. He looked away.
"H-hey, Oliver," I managed to bring myself to mumble.
"Oh, you two know each other!" Lindsay exclaimed, grinning. "That's great, I had no idea! Wait, you're Katie Bell, right? Well, just in case you don't know, I'm Linds- "
"Linds, what are you doing here?" Oliver interrupted. He didn't look too happy to see me, and suddenly I would have given anything in the world to make him give The Look to me again.
Lindsay looked affronted. "I'm collecting donations for my new drive. You of all people should know. And I was kinda here to see you, too. Do you want to head down for an early dinner? Katie, you're welcome to join us, too," she said graciously.
"Oh, you know what, no thanks, I was just going to -" "Katie, ma'am? Mister Oliver?
I turned, astonished, to see a familiar-looking kid who had seemed to have materialized out of nowhere.
"Beggin' your pardon, but the deputy wishes to see the two of you.
"The deputy?" Oliver repeated.
"Yesum, Professor McGonagall, sir.
And with that, Mr Midget Extraordinaire saluted us and went about his everyday business, whatever that may be.
There was a pregnant pause.
"...Wow," Lindsay finally said. "He certainly was short.
Oliver and I walked the way to Professor McGonagall's in silence. It wasn't one of those nice, comfortable silences you always seem to see in movies, either. It was nowhere near nice and nowhere near comfortable and nowhere near South Africa or even London, but that's another story.
Upon reaching our mutual destination, there was a bit of even more awkward silence as we mentally sparred over who should knock on the door. Finally we both reached for the doorknocker, which resulted in our hands touching for a second, which is exactly what we had been trying to avoid in the first place.
Further embarrassment was prevented by the sudden opening of the door by McGonagall herself, who quickly ushered us in.
"Some nasty business going on with the first-years...don't know how someone could be so stupid as to mistake a head for a cabbage...and who in the name of Merlin is afraid of cabbage anyway..." McGonagall muttered vacantly as she swished over to her table and sat down to face us.
I'm going to refrain from telling her I've always had a lifelong fascination and fear of lettuce, because I've never been able to tell the difference between lettuce and cabbage and I'm assuming she can't either.
"Well," McGonagall said, leaning forward slightly, "How were your holidays?
Best days of my life.
"Wonderful, Professor, thanks," Oliver smiled at her.
Excuse me? He'll smile at a wrinkly old ha - er, elderly witch who has chosen to forego regular facial injections and stimulants - very honorably, I might add - and he won't smile at me?
I'm young!
I'm bold!
I'm beautiful!
I'm in LOVE with him!
I mean, I have a bad itch. Er.
Awkward.
"I called the two of you here today to discuss your tutoring sessions," McGonagall continued.
Maybe she's upset because she found out about the tiny, little, minute, miniscule, insignificant detail that, you know, we haven't been having those tutoring sessions since school started.
Professor McGonagall looked up at me and stared at me for a few really, really weird moments before she said, "Miss Bell, as of today you shall not be required to tutor Mr Wood any longer.
"Mr Wood shall be receiving assistance from another student who, as he has told me, has already consented to assist him. However, I would like to thank you for your sacrifice in these previous months and I am sure he feels the same way. Good luck with your N.E.W.T.s, dear - I am sure you will do well.
I'm not sure which is more shocking; the fact that Oliver himself personally requested for a change of tutors from Professor McGonagall, or the fact that Minervie herself just called me "dear".
McGonagall waved her hands in a kind of "shoo, I've got random academic matters involving cabbage to take care of" manner, so Oliver and I both stood up and took our leave.
I closed the door behind me numbly, thoughts still swirling around in my head. Did Oliver really hate me that much now? Had I caused him some sort of irreparable emotional damage? Who was this new tutor of his? And most importantly of all, what did cabbage have to do with academia?
"You know..." Oliver suddenly said awkwardly, breaking the silence that seemed to be token now whenever he and I were together. Which wasn't very often, given that he and I were both avoiding each other like the plague to the power of ten, but still.
"...Lindsay's a really good tutor.
...Really.
"She was top of her class in her old school and everything. So, I'm in, uh, good hands and all, just in case you care. Which you don't. I mean uh. Well. You know, Lindsay's...she's...nice. And I uh, you know, she was nice enough to, you know.
He keeps saying that, but really I know I don't know whatever it is he knows I'm supposed to know.
Oliver seemed to be searching for something else he could say.
"...Did you hear about that Hufflepuff who mistook her friend's head for cabbage and turned it into a head of lettuce?
A/N: Eeee! I finished it! I'm as surprised as you are, trust me. Since the chapter's now over, I'd like to apologize for the late-ness of it all. Hopefully I'll put up a few more chapters during the holidays I'm having right now. I'll need something to do, right? Please review...I'm afraid you've all forgotten me by now. And may I just say I HATE FFN's new formatting thing? I apologize for any inconvenience you may have experienced trying to read this, because I sure as hell experienced inconvenience attempting to upload this. I can't even type asterisk asterisk asterisk to separate different parts of the chapter any more. Major sigh. Later, all.
