Here's another chapter up, don't forget to review!
Kingsley led her outside the prison and onto the island, where she could feel the wind for the first time in a year, blowing matted dark hair away from her face; she did not take the time to enjoy it, instead reluctantly allowed him to grab her arm in order to apparate them away.
She felt a twisting sensation in her stomach, and her entire body felt as though she were being squeezed through a small tube; she was felt nauseous, and when they landed on the floor of the Burrow, her legs gave out and she fell to her knees, clutching her stomach with a low groan.
"Good heavens!" cried someone that she could easily recognize as Mrs. Weasley as she glanced up through her hair. "Are you alright, dear?"
The woman made to help her up, but Carina snarled at her, shaking her head as she glared at the floor, attempting not to vomit.
"Don't touch her," ordered Kingsley, glancing at her. "Any of you. She doesn't like it and she isn't very happy with any of us right now."
Choking the bile in her throat down, Carina grabbed the wall for support and struggled to her feet, sharp gray eyes flickering about. She hadn't realized how many people were in the room and around the general area, for her senses were out of whack at the moment with all the new smells, not to mention noises; she had grown rather accustomed to the tortured screams of those still in Azkaban.
Mr. and Mrs. Weasley hovered close by, watching with worried eyes, whilst Kingsley had stationed himself in front of the door and was more than likely making sure she didn't lash out on someone.
Inwardly, Carina snorted at the idea; she was too weak to use magic, transform, or fight. If anything, she was at their mercy.
Harry, Fred, George, Ron, Ginny and Hermione were all standing just inside the hall, watching the scene unfold; unable to help herself, Carina chanced a brief glance at Hermione, noticing how her brown eyes were trained completely on the other witch.
Her appearance must unnerve them some, she figured; the dirty, ragged clothes that now hung off her frame, matted hair, and her sallow skin.
It even surprised her a little, as she glanced over at her reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall.
"Well," began Mr. Weasley, clearing his throat. "Carina, I'm sure you'd like to go upstairs and clean up; Molly fixed up a bed for you in the room you'll be sharing with Hermione and Ginny—"
"—I'd rather sleep outside," interrupted Carina roughly, and she did not bother to stop the snarky comment from slipping past her lips. "One of them might try to kill me while I sleep."
"Oi!" protested Ron, seeming offended. "They wouldn't do anything to you, don't be such a git to them!"
Her brow rose in challenge. "I'll act as much of a git as I want, Ronald." She coughed, for her throat felt scratchy. "And what would you do, anyway? Make me vomit slugs?"
His ears turned red. "I've gotten better."
"Sure you have." Carina shoved past him, spine straightening as she made her way by the others, squaring her shoulders in an attempt to at least not look half as weak as she felt. She knew where the bathroom was, but she would have to walk up two flights of stairs to get there; though her legs screamed in protest and trembled violently, she forced herself to keep moving by sheer willpower.
Finally, when she made it into the bathroom and closed the door, she decided that the first thing she would do was fix her hair.
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An hour or so later, once she deemed herself presentable, Carina had dressed herself in a pair of old clothes that had been laid out sometime while she was bathing, probably by Hermione or Ginny.
Glancing at herself in the mirror one more time, she brushed an unruly lock of now shining black hair behind her ear and descended the staircase on wobbly legs, hoping to find some food before she collapsed. She was far from stupid; she was malnourished and weak, and she would have to accept their food and assistance if she wanted to get better.
However, that did not mean that she had to like it, nor that she wouldn't stop attempting to do everything herself, simply so that she would not need their help.
After all, she had no desire to look like a weakling.
Carefully, she made her way into the kitchen upon smelling food, and noticed that the Weasleys were already all gathered around the table; silently, at Mr. Weasley's nod toward the empty chair between Fred and Hermione, she sat down and began to fill her plate.
Carina avoided the gazes of everyone and mutely ate as much of the food as she could; it wasn't even five minutes before she felt full, and she had only eaten a quarter of her plate.
With an inward sigh, she dropped her fork and stared at her plate. She wasn't going to be able to eat anymore, due to her stomach not being used to large, rich quantities of food—if it had been back in the time before the betrayal, when she had just finally gotten over the malnutrition of her childhood, she would have already eaten just as much as Ron.
"How can you two eat so much?" Hermione found herself asking Ron and Carina, who were currently shoveling large forkfuls of food into their mouths; him sloppily, and she somehow neatly enough that she would not have anything on her later like he was sure to.
Carina paused, fork hovering over her plate.
"I don't know," she answered with a shrug. "I didn't really get enough to eat as a kid, if ever, so maybe I'm just trying to make up for all I lost? You saw me first year—I was skin and bones."
"I know. You were the first one to befriend me when everyone else wouldn't."
Harry and Ron had the decency to look ashamed, and Carina pointed her fork at them both. "Yeah, you two thought she was some mad muggleborn, but I knew she was gonna be someone great." The thirteen year old grinned proudly. "And she is, isn't that right, Mione?"
Hermione merely shook her head, a fond smile in place as she watched her best friend bicker with their boys.
Carina hadn't realized that she had been staring at her plate for the past five minutes until she saw a hand reaching across the table for her roll; it was Ron.
Though she wasn't eating it at the moment and might not, it still irked her that he hadn't even asked. So, right when his hand was about to reach the plate, she slammed the fork directly in front of his hand, only millimeters away from his fingertips.
"Bloody hell!" cried Ron in shock, snatching his hand back and cradling it to his chest with wide eyes. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"
"Would I be so lucky?" remarked Carina wryly, though the way she was staring at him made him shudder. She twirled the fork between her fingers. "Who's next?"
"Carina," interrupted Mrs. Weasley sternly. "Enough. Ronald, do not provoke her, and before taking someone's food, ask."
"But, mum!" protested Ron. "She's my—" His words died on his lips when the fork was suddenly sent whizzing past his ear and into the wall behind him.
The raven haired girl's brow rose in question, and he got the message loud and clear, I'm your what, Ronald?
He hastily shook his head. "Er, nevermind. I'm sorry, Carina."
She idly picked up a knife laying on the table, and Ron gulped, scooting his chair closer to his father.
When a hand came into contact with her leg under the table, gray eyes shot up as she flinched; she did not like to be touched, she had not had physical human contact for over a year, and she especially didn't want it from these particular people.
Especially not from this particular person.
"Carina," whispered Hermione urgently. "Stop." Carina attempted to swipe her hand away discreetly and without making a scene, but found that the hand on her thigh had tighened. "No. Listen to me—violence isn't the answer."
Abruptly, Carina dropped the knife and stood, bolting up the stairs with some difficulty; once there, she opened the window and climbed out onto the roof.
She could not, would not find herself in the same situation as last time.
Not again, she resolved.
She was going to make them realize exactly what they put her through, and they were soon going to see that she was no longer the same girl they had known.