Chapter 13

"We all live in a yellow

Submarine."

- The Beatles.

There's something different.

Something strange afoot and I cannot figure out what it is. I know what it could be.

Though I doubt that Death would itch like wool.

Or smell like oranges and pancakes.

In fact I'm one of the people who believe that Death is merely a blank black thing that matters not.

I can feel my eyelashes flutter against the soft flesh just above my cheekbones. I always thought that my eyelashes were ridiculously long but thanked my genetic code that I'm a blonde so I don't look at all like a girl. Meaning that you can't really see the length of the ridiculous things.

I can tell that I'm not in the factory anymore.

Also that I'm no longer sick.

Which is odd. I mean I'm wizard make no mistake, but even I cannot simply heal myself in the course of sleep to regenerate.

However I won't let that bother me.

Instead I'll take this comfort for what it is worth…

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I'm awake and now aware of where I am.

Which is a house.

Or at least a room that looks as though it has been fitted for guests to use. With all the right homely touches that still leave the rather desolate use of the room.

The bed I'm on is a four-poster bed that resembles the ones at Hogwarts, with white linens and comforter. Just enough to be comforting yet impersonal.

I think I've gotten too use of things being dirty and gritty to find that I really don't actually like this room and the cleanliness of it. Too luxurious and too overdone. The walls with the redwood covering it, the finely furnishings of the chair and nightstand. The hardwood floor shiny and not at all dull.

Where is the dust and dirt?

Where is the half starving drug infused kids?

Where is the reality of the world?

I'm feeling beyond down right now.
I want to cry for no explicable reason if not for the fact that my body outline in the comforter reminds me of body bags… or the sheets that covered my father's study after he was sent to Azkaban.

I can feel the skin on the back of my neck stretch and I imagine that there are other people watching that skin and bidding on what it would take to break the skin and have a gapping hole…

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I find it odd that the panic has seized upon me as it has.

One would be inclined to think that as I have been awake for the past few hours the moment on waking would have me tensing up near painfully and wanting to get out of the room.

But I just throw the blanket up and swing my feet over the side and prepare to run out in a panic. A scream is even at the back of my throat begging to be let out.

Instead I'm very unsteady and manage to veer of the side and crash my hip into the side table.

The flare of pain hurts more than I would've have expected it to.

I didn't notice the woman come in when she did.

All I know is that a short woman with red hair is right beside me and trying a soothing voice on me. Her hand is warm on my shrunken arm and somehow she possesses the calming aura around her.

She's telling me that I must get back into the bed if I want to heal properly…

I let her tuck me back in like I am a child. She smiles and I notice that it calms me down.

Suddenly this room doesn't seem so inhuman.

Suddenly I have a glass of water placed in front of my face.

A Sleeping Draught.

I know the smell.

I accept my defeat. I drink.

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