Hey guys – I'm back! England was great! The story will pick up soon, right after the failed first Quidditch match with the Dementors. But for now, just setting up the characters some more I guess.
Name: Bell. Katie Bell.
Age: I'm feeling like I'm about 94 at the moment
Hair: Better than this morning at least.
Current Mood. Dead tired.
Current location: Third row from the back, between Angelina and Alicia, Transfiguration class.
When I tried to pick up my quill in Transfiguration, my arms wouldn't respond. Stupid Oliver Wood and his stupid stupidity. If he was such the sporting gentlemen everyone claims he is, he wouldn't have given me those push-ups. Despite my death-looks, my arms just sat limply on the desk. Stupid arms. I gave up pretty quickly on them; I know a lost cause when I see one. So instead I stared at my ink-pot, willing my quill to move. It did, surprises of surprises. That's right, because I'm a witch. I can perform magic. I keep forgetting that.
I Charmed my entire Transfig notes using that locomotis Charm. Flitwick would be proud. Of course, my writing was so shaky I could barely read it, but I got out of detention with McGonagall. She just walked passed me, raised an eyebrow and continued on her way. I think after however many years she's been here, she's seen it all. Or she'd rather not get involved.
I had Potions next, but it was pointless to go to Snape's class, where we were expected to cut and slice things and stir our concoctions when I didn't even have full control over my limbs. So instead I cut class and went to see Madame Pomfrey, who tsked me as usual and gave me some sort of ointment. It burnt hot then went icy, but after that I could use my arms normally. Oh well, no sense in going back to Potions now. Instead, I completed my detention, polishing all the suits of armour in the Great Hall. By the time I finished that I need another dosing of Pomfrey's magical muscle ointment. The annoying thing was half of the suits of armour squirmed and claimed I was tickling them. Peeves burst out of one of them, but after some colourful threats from both parties, he left. Unfortunately to be replaced by someone much worse.
"Well, well. A Gryffindor Chaser. Think how tragic it would be, should one of those suits of armour happen to fall on her, rendering her incapable for the next Quidditch match." I knew that rasping voice. Marcus Flint. I turned around, hands on hips, cleaning rag and polish still in hand. "And to think, such a tragic accident could have been so easily avoided." I narrowed my eyes.
"I'm not going out with you, Flint." I finally replied. He'd taken it upon himself last year to start this. It freaked me out more than his usual threats of violence. He pushed some of my hair behind my ear.
"Pity." He breathed. I was just so repulsed, so freaked out, I acted out of instinct. I threw the cleaning polish into his eyes. He hissed sharply, clawing at his eyes with one hand, back-handing me with the other. I stumbled back against a suit of armour. It swayed worryingly, but stayed in one piece. He was in too much pain to try anything else, and he just stumbled off into the direction of the dungeons. I shakily made my way to my next lesson. What a great start to the new school year. The next day was even better.