Chapter Three: Meaning
Seein' through some different eyes/I can feel a change, I can feel/Can you feel it/Everything's feeling unclear/I wish it were raining/'Cause I hate every beautiful day
-Sugarcult
I had a hard time getting to sleep that night with out my walkman numbing my senses. Nothing now was there to block out the creaking floorboards, howling winds, real ghosts floating about the tower and a convicted killer on the loose. Of course I knew better than to think of Sirius Black as an actual threat. But still, you had to admit it was rather ironic because everything I'd feared was real now, but I knew I was safe. Being in a place so heavily guarded as Hogwarts it would have been exceedingly hard for me to still be paranoid about getting murdered in my sleep. Being able to let my guard down for once allowed sleep to find me easier than I'd expected, but it didn't stay for long.
Awake I was again at five in the morning. I'd rolled over to try and get back to sleep but it had managed to stay just out of reach. I was out of bed as the early sky was turning its accustomed morning grey. Walking to the bathroom, I opened the curtains allowing the pale light to let me at least see where I was going. It was then that the blonde tresses shadowing my cheeks caught my eyes again. It had alarmed me at first, but my heartbeat soon slowed to a normal pace. Her eyes were still staring me down in the mirror. They weren't my eyes, no matter how hard I stared or how much I saw. I was still looking through Chase's eyes, not my own. My gaze turned downward to my hands. These again were no longer my own either. Pale, weathered from quidditch and broom handling, with well manicured nails. Long, slender fingers with a slight pinkness to them, not a crooked bone to be found.
A frown formed across my face. Even that didn't seem to damper Chase's beauty. But then I noticed something…very small it was but still it got my attention. Chase's eyes were a very strange and almost possessed looking hard blue. They looked so…dead. So unreal.
Thoroughly frightened I left the bathroom, trying to block out the image of her eyes as I hurried to get dressed. Looking out the windows, the sight to greet me was disgusting. Sunshine everywhere and not a cloud in sight. Ugh, I could barely stand it. I'd always liked cloudy days. Even in the summer, overcast afternoons made it feel like fall and I've always felt my safest and most comfortable during the autumn season.
Doing my best to ignore the weather I grabbed my things and decided I didn't need anyone's help to find my classes today. I was determined to go down to the Great Hall and plan my every waking hour out. And so help me God it would work out the way I wanted it to. If I couldn't control where I live my life I can at least control what happens in it.
Soft strains of thick dust were floating lazily through the sunshine that was already sputtering through the gigantic windows in the Great Hall. I set my things down and figured since no one was around, I'd go investigate. Only every other window was clear, the others were stained glass images depicting significant events in wizard history.
It would've been somewhat educational and maybe even interesting…had the captions not been in Latin. Turning my head slightly, I looked beyond the glass onto the grounds.
Okay, so the sunshine was still a bit too bright for my taste, but the grounds themselves were spectacularly stunning. Mountains, hills, forests, large bodies of water and a castle to live in. Doesn't get much better.
Well, it would be better if I was myself, but I didn't have time for more angst. I had a schedule to fix. Sitting down, I quickly got to work. It was Friday, meaning I had Dragon Language classes first thing after breakfast. Hmm…I'd just have to muck my way through that one.
After Introduction to Dragon Language came lunch and then Divination. I'd never really held Professor Trelawney in a high respect, but divination should be about the easiest thing ever to lie my way through. Then again, I was a seventh year now and class might be more advanced than I can fake. Knowing Professor Trelawney however, it wasn't likely.
'Ah well, I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.' I thought to myself. Satisfied with knowing my schedule, I now pulled out a map I'd found in a drawer and flattened it on the table. Every little square had a number and there were at least three hundred tiny squares. Every hallway had a letter and it seemed after 'z' the map makers had decided to start going on with double letters and then triple and so on. On the back was a massively large key in print as tiny as was on the front telling me the names of all the numbered and lettered areas. I'd soon learned that I could zoom in anywhere and look at certain floor plans and change the viewpoints by simply tapping or dragging my wand over the worn parchment.
As extensive as the map proved to be, it wasn't exactly helpful. There were just far to many places to sift through.
The sun had risen a bit more fully now and I reckoned it had to be at least 7:30. A few other students had lingered in, oddly none of them Gryffindors. Looking up, I realized there was some breakfast on the table already. Grabbing a pitcher of orange juice I poured myself a tall glass and went right back to studying my map as I sipped. However, before I could get far a book was thrown down at the place across from me and a blonde girl sat down, looking rather ruffled. I recognized her at once as a reserve beater for the Gryffindor team that I had met last night. Jemma O'Reilly was her name and I'd got on with her very nicely. Though she'd been in a much better mood last night than she seemed to be in at the moment. Taking her bag from around her neck, Jemma shot a cold glare at the entrance doors. Two boys were doubled over in laughter as they lingered by the doors.
"Good morning Jemma, what's wrong?" I asked, setting my papers aside. She sent a last looming glare towards the boys before throwing her hair over her shoulders and helping herself to some toast. Her attempts at buttering looked a lot less like spreading and a lot more like sporadic bread torture.
"Those…boys." She spat. "Those damn Slytherin quidditch players love to taunt on us reserves. They can't put out enough hatefulness on the team so I suppose they take all their pent up frustration on us reserves. Well I won't stand for it any longer!" she looked up at me for a brief moment before taking a bite of her bread and reaching for the orange juice pitcher. "I'm going straight to Wood after practice tonight." She said after a large gulp of juice.
I nodded firmly in support. But all I could think about was how I was probably going to get heat for being a reserve player as well. It was kind of obvious why they were bothering Gryffindor's reserve team; because they could and because they were bullies. But apparently Jemma was not done.
"I mean honestly, like they don't have a reserve team of their own. Think just because they've won the cup recently and we haven't that they're the better team." At this she gave a short sardonic laugh, "Ha! If that were the truth. We're twice as good as any of them. We just haven't been given ample opportunity to prove it. It's not like we don't have the talent. There's just no space on the team. Ooh…those bastards make me appreciate the dark arts." She growled before stuffing some bacon into her mouth.
I still couldn't think of a reply so again, I nodded. Just then, my map and schedule caught her eyes. Craning her neck to see across the table, she studied my things before changing the subject.
"What're you doing?"
'Well!' I thought to myself, 'Someone has ADD.'
"Just trying to figure out where my lessons are. You know save time, don't want to be late trying to find things between classes."
One of her eyebrows rose.
"You still don't know where your classes are?" she asked bewildered.
My mouth opened but nothing came out. She had a point and I realized how stupid I must've sounded just then.
"I got a schedule change." I lied.
"This late in the year?" her tone was still amazed.
"Yes well, I suppose since I just transferred…"
"Oh, right." Jemma seemed thoroughly satisfied and I relaxed. "So, do you need any help?"
"Yeah, okay…" I resolved. I'd intended not to get help from anyone, but seeing as that plan wasn't working out so well…Jemma turned out to be a great help and we had my whole day planned in just a few minutes. However in just those few minutes half the school must've arrived for breakfast. Putting my things away in my bag I figured I should get started eating something as well. Timothy Handle made himself comfortable beside Jemma soon enough and I was left to wait for some one to talk to. Timothy was on the reserve team as well as a keeper. He had about the same build as Oliver only with thick black hair and clear, sky blue eyes. His jaw was a bit squarer as well. No secret was kept easily at Hogwarts and therefore it was common knowledge that Timothy and Jemma had a crush on one another.
Fortunately it didn't take long for most everyone to arrive. Just as Oliver and Percy were about to sit down a loud rumbling and screeching began echoing throughout the Great Hall. A good foot in the air I must've jumped, totally caught off guard. Guess I missed yesterday's mail. Not surprised was I when Percy just rolled his eyes while Oliver chuckled.
"Scared of owls all of a sudden are we?" Wood smirked at me.
"Just startled I guess." I said sheepishly. 'Holy Hell his accent is lethal.'
I hated sounding like a teenybopper, but it was true. Having Scotland in my blood had always turned me onto those accents, I couldn't help it. Suddenly a note fell in front of me, safely landing just to the right of my plate. Dread swam into my stomach. Lovely, just what I needed; a letter from my fictional character's mother. Upon opening it however, I realized that it really was a good thing. Chase's parents had signed her permission form for Hogsmeade trips. Stuffing the form into my bag, I turned back to Oliver and Percy. I tried to think of something to say but nothing came. Just then I realized a question. One that was sure to prove ridiculous, but one that would strike up conversation never the less.
"So Percy," I did my best to smile warmly in his direction, "Do you play quidditch?"
Oliver struggled not to choke through his laughter at my daring. All Percy did was take a sip of juice from his cup and stare at me for a few very strange moments. It seemed as though he was contemplating my seriousness.
"No, I haven't the time for such things. Very busy with being head boy and the academy and all."
Head boy I knew of, but academy? What was he talking about?
"Academy?" I looked at him puzzled.
"Yes…" finally he caught on that an explanation was in order, "Hogwarts' Ministry of Magic Academy?"
"Oh! Oh, right…sorry. We don't have those at Brinkley of course. Well we have academies, but not that one. Well, actually we might have that one I'm not…sure. Never mind." I turned to Oliver.
"I think I'm going to go, I have some erm, homework to finish and I want to get it all done before class. So, I'll see you at lunch?"
"Today's Friday I thought."
"It is Friday."
"Then I'll see you in class Chase, as always."
"Right! In class then. Bye Oliver, bye Percy."
As I was walking off I heard him talking to his red haired friend.
"Strange the way she's been acting lately, eh?"
"She has been a bit off lately…maybe it's an Americanthing."
Apparently Dragons have a mostly physical language.
We were studying certain behaviorisms and what they meant. Simple translation was it boiled down to really, making it easier than some English lessons. I'd never been much good at grammar when it was being taught in a classroom. I knew it like the way one knows walking: it was a memorized and automatic skill, but trying to break it down into confusing labels always got me lost.
But back to notes:
Dragons for the most part are extremely intelligent. Although we may not always be able to understand them, they usually can interpret at least what our tone of voice means.
Pretty cool animals, dragons. I'd never really held a strong liking to them (anything with control over that much fire power is definitely something to be wary of), but they at least seemed a lot more interesting than unicorns and pixies.
Lunch came quicker than I'd have thought it would and I made a quick dash to the tower to change my books so I could go straight to class after I ate. As I sifted through Chase's things I decided I needed to organize my textbooks and everything else on the messy desk I was desperately searching through. Wow, this chick was disorganized when it came to school. Her closet, funnily enough was in perfect order. It was even color coded according to the scheme of the rainbow…It ended up that I was fifteen minutes late for a beautiful lunch of ham and turkey sandwiches.
I wasn't really starving, but I dived in never the less. I figured I should eat a good deal since it was a while until diner and goodness only knows what we'd be having. I'd played that game way too many times on my trip overseas to the United Kingdom during the summer. There were times when we ate foods that didn't always look like they'd have passed inspection. I had no problem just skipping a meal here and there, figuring I'd have a nice delicious dinner to look forward to, only to find that dinner was even worse than lunch and I had nothing to eat but dessert, if I was lucky. Not working a proper meal into my day had always bothered me for some reason. I was beginning to realize that a lot of things bothered me.
Looking up to pour myself some pumpkin juice I caught the eye of Cedric Diggory for a moment. I felt my grip on the juice pitcher lighten considerably at this and one of the Weasley Twins beside me had to reach out suddenly in order to steady it. I mumbled my thanks, still a tad shocked. Were all the boys at this school gorgeous or was it just my imagination. Looking across the table to Percy I concluded it was imagination. Turning my gaze to Oliver, who was beside me, I constituted some conversation. Although, I have to admit I had a nasty feeling that I was sinking into awkward territory the moment the question formed on my mouth.
"So Oliver, why exactly are you so into quidditch? Did your dad play or something?" In that moment I saw a few nervous glances being shot towards my place at the table. And then everyone went back to his or her meals, an uneasy tension still looming in the air. Even Oliver, I noticed, was avoiding my eyes as he reached out for more chips (or crisps as the British slang goes). I also noticed this was unnecessary since he had a small mound of them already on his plate already. Not being able to help my self I laid a hand on his forearm.
"I'm sorry."
"No, don't be. Erm, do you mind staying after practice for a bit tonight? I won't keep you long since I have a lot of homework myself."
"Not at all, I'll stay." I murmured, going back to my plate andcurious as to how I'd managed to make a fool of myself yet again and this time drag Oliver into it as well.
Just as I'd suspected, making up predictions in Divination proved to be all too easy and I had a feeling it would be an easy term in Professor Trelawney's class.
Quidditch practice was again shaky. I wasn't useless at sports, just close enough to make people wonder why I was even on the team. Thankfully Jemma had been sweet enough to shout out directions as Oliver got so frustrated he almost lost his balance a number of times from pulling at his hair so much.
When practice was finally called I could tell he was still livid. Coming in for a hard landing on the soft grassy field, he skidded to a stop with his feet before jumping off of his broom and shouting for everyone to get their arses back to the tower and that he was going to have a word with me. In a blur of maroon they all left rather quickly and I was left alone with my very upset captain. He paced back and forth, trying to actually gain a hold on his ability to speak. Finally he stopped dead and got straight in my face.
"What is wrong with you?" I thought he might actually want an answer but in a second he was pacing again and continued on. "Just Monday you pulled some of the most incredible moves I'd ever seen! You were amazing! And today it's as if you've lost all hand-eye coordination or something! Honestly, if I didn't know any better I'd think you'd never ridden a broomstick before in your life." Suddenly he was again in front of me, his hands on my shoulders. He wasn't gripping and this not only relieved but surprised me a bit also. Being the muscular jock Oliver was, I suppose I threw in the "didn't-realize-just-how-strong-he-was" stereotype on my own. "You were stunning on that field last week, Chase. You were this almost unbelievable player. You were perfect! What happened to that girl? I need that girl!"
Through out this entire episode all I could do was stare at him helplessly.
'That girl is gone," was the only thought that stuck itself in my brain, 'and I doubt she'll ever return to you.'
Silence was everywhere now. Looking him in the eyes was the last thing I wanted to do, but he was forcing me to with the way he was holding me by the shoulders. Sharp brown coated his black pupils. That's when I saw it again. The horrible deadened, artificial look I'd noticed in Chase's eyes this morning was in his as well. I closed my eyes, blocking it out.
"I can't…" I whispered.
He stood back, letting go of my shoulders and giving me a worried, yet still upset look.
"If something's bothering you, you can talk to me. I'm not just your teammate; I'm your captain and your friend. It's my job either way to see that you're alright." His voice was yielding now and earnestly concerned.
"Just give me a while." My voice was quiet. "I'll be alright."
I knew it was a lie, but lies were all I could give him then. At least it would buy me some time. I turned to go but he stopped me.
"Chase…"
"Yeah?" 'God, please don't yell at me anymore…'
He seemed to struggle to find the words. Or perhaps he had them; he just couldn't bring himself to say them. I knew that happened to me all the time. I figured I should help him out.
"Do you mind if we sit? After all that flying I feel like my ass if about to fall off." I smiled at him as I took a seat on the flawlessly trimmed grass. To my relief, he smiled back as he took a seat beside me.
"I wanted to answer the question you asked me at lunch."
I felt my stomach drop.
"Now the thing you have to understand is that I don't tell this to many people. The team knows, by way of, well they're my team. What I'm saying is that I can trust you and you need to know that. Please don't give me a reason not to trust you." I gave him a small nod and he continued. "Alright, my dad did play but I never saw him do it. I have pictures and all, but he died when I was two."
My heart followed suit of my stomach. He wasn't looking at me, thankfully. His eyes were concentrated on the grass in front of him as he struggled through the recesses of his tired mind.
"My mum remarried though, when I was about five. He still lives with us actually. He doesn't play quidditch, can't really fly or stand seeing it either. Truth is, he can't stand me either and he has no trouble making that quite clear when my mum isn't around. Well, anyways, I don't wanna make this much of a pity party. Basically, I just needed to get out of the house as much as possible so I took off early in the morning and made it a point to stay out until my mum came home from work. She worked by the way, he never did. Always a lazy brute if you ask me. So, I flew. It was…my escape, I guess."
"And that's all you did, all day?" I looked at him curiously. He nodded.
"Yah, all day. It's like… when I get out there, onto the pitch, and I feel the wind rush past me and, and I can finally think freely. It's just me and the air and the wind and—and then the game begins and I thrive in the pressure and my nerves they, they kill me sometimes but then I get in the air and I feel nothing but assured and that…I'm where I belong. No one can tell me I'm not doing a good enough job or that I'm letting them down. It isn't about anyone else when I'm up there."
I think I understood what he was saying. That's how I was about my writing. It was all I could think about all day and it's all I ever wanted to concentrate on. In a world of screaming and gossip and the endless pressure you put on yourself, you end up desperate for a way to block it out, for something you can call yours, something to make you forget if only for a little while. It wasn't an art or a sport; it was our way of life.
I explained this to him, leaving out the bit about my correlating only as an author, and he just grinned. I thought maybe I saw a blush creep into his cheeks, but I couldn't tell for the darkness the pitch posed.
"I can't believe you get it," he mumbled, "Even the team says I'm mental."
I was about to say something encouraging, possibly fold my hand in his, just do something when a cold, icy feeling crept into my skin. It wasn't just physical, every part of me felt cold, like my very soul was letting me go. At that point I felt Oliver grip my hand. At least, it must have been Oliver since he was the only one beside me. I can't really remember, it was like coming out of a dream state and just barely being awake. Like the way you feel when you have a fever and you're completely out of it and you're freezing. He pulled me up and struggled to get me across the field, out of the stadium and into the locker room. Once I was inside reality seemed to hit me hard.
The warm moisture from the showers, the feeling of the ground beneath my feet, Oliver there with me, and the grip my hands had on either one of his shoulders.
"What in God's name…?" I panted.
"Dementors…" He murmured angrily as he peered over my head and out the open door to make sure they were really gone.
I had forgotten all about the dementors. Honestly, I'd had enough of my own story to remember and I guess I sort of lost track of the third book completely. Absolutely reckless this was getting.
I sat down on a nearby bench, still a bit stunned by the whole thing.
"Don't worry, it didn't get close. I reckon they were just restless because someone was out on the grounds past curfew. And Merlin! No wonder, it's almost ten o'clock. We'd better get. Are you alright?" I deduce he must've finally realized that I was struggling to keep a hold of myself.
Looking up at him I nodded, albeit with a tad of grimace. The cold lingered in my stomach and I could swear I was about to hurl all over his shoes any moment now.
We put our things back in our lockers, splashed our faces with warm water and traversed back up to the castle at a run. By the time we were inside all the hallways were, for the most part, dark and deserted. Looming and shadow casting, the torches hanging on the walls only added to the fear factor. Trying to make our way back to the tower quickly and quietly proved to be very stressful but in the end we did manage. Upon entering, I noticed a light haired girl sobbing as an Indian girl tried to console her. It was all I could do not to laugh as I realized it was Lavender Brown crying over her rabbit. Alicia and her friends all glared at me as I made my way towards the girls' staircase. Why anyone would want to study in a common room when they have their own desks in their own spacious dorms, I have no idea. But I was good and alone either way and better for it. Seeing as everyone else was down stairs, I decided to take a nice long shower. I did love my showers.
I found the whole ordeal of the Hogwarts dorm bathrooms fascinating since they weren't mentioned in the books. Comfortable was probably the best description. The walls and floors were tiled in maroon with the gold lion crest scattered here and there. The towels were maroon and anointed with a stitched in gold lion. The showers were comprised of six cubicle stalls, all about the size of a handicap bathroom with red doors and walls. Naturally, everything took Gryffindor's pattern. Even the soap was red and smelled of cranberries. I hoped only the girls' soap was scented that way. I undid my robes and stepped into the shower. A sigh left my lips as the hot water hit my bare skin.
It felt justly delicious after coming in from the cold. So much swam in my head. The dementors, Oliver, what I was going to do about quidditch. My hands ran over my face out of fatigue and being overworked. Being given the chance to relax seemed to make my muscles realize just how sore they were. It was then I remembered it was Friday. That meant tomorrow was Saturday. Oh thank god and the baby Jesus. I'd be damned if my plans for tomorrow consisted of little more than sleeping and trying to figure this whole damn thing out for sure.