"MS Cigarettes, are you Italian?"
There was a house party that Slytherin prefects threw for the upperclassmen. Someone smuggled in alcohol. I grabbed a bottle of butterbeer and took a deep sip as I sat on a sofa far away from the dancing. I just observed, not because I had no friends. I had no friends here, but I enjoyed watching everyone have fun. There was a fireplace next to where I was sitting. The warmth of the fireplace was so comforting. It felt like an oven when it's baking a new loaf of bread, but the common room didn't smell as nice. The events of the day were starting to wear on me. And I drifted off to sleep.
I felt a soft cloud around me. I felt like I was swimming in a lake of satin and silk. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and sat up. The air was cold, and the room was smaller. My eyes jolted open. I looked around in a panic. Next to me was a boy wiping the sleep out of his eyes. "What the fuck!" I fell off the bed, hitting my face against a nightstand.
I couldn't open my eyes. Everything hurt so bad. I started hyperventilating. I felt the nightstand move. I tried to squirm my way underneath the bed. "Stop! You're gonna get more hurt!" He pulled on my leg. I tried to fight him. "I'll fix you and leave!" He yelled.
"I can't see." I whispered. A tear fell down my face.
"It's okay I got you." He whispered as he picked me up. He smelled of cigarettes and oak trees.
"Where am I? What happened?"
"These boys saw you sleeping, so I claimed you. They went away, Milicent Bulstrode helped me find your room."
In my head I concentrated as hard as I could. 'Legilimens,' I whispered to myself. I saw the truth in his words and I saw his face. His eyes were that of Cabanel's Fallen Angel.
"I stayed to make sure you were okay. They should have some kind of emergency kit in here." We must have entered the bathroom. He sat me on something, and then I felt a cool sensation and a rough fabric dabbing my face. "This looks gnarly, so I'm just cleaning off the blood."
His hands were right next to my nose. I couldn't help but fixate on the smell of his hands. The smell wasn't quite Marblaro. "MS Cigarettes, are you Italian?"
"Only half." I heard a small chuckle. "What about you?" He said this as he started rubbing an ointment or cream or whatever into my eyebrows.
"I'm Irish, but I grew up in America." He was quiet.
"Are you Ruby Shelby?"
"Yes and what's your name?"
I heard a jar close. "The ointment will make you sleepy, but it will get rid of the bruise and the swelling. It won't get rid of the cut." His voice was unemotional.
"What the fuck is your name?" I yelled. "Or I tell my father you raped me. You know who he is don't you?"
"Theodore Nott, that's my name." His voice felt far away.
My head swarmed with pain. "Your uncle is Lucas Changretta," but there was no response. I tried to open my eyes, I only got blurry glimpses. I fumbled off where I was sitting and went for the bathroom door. "Thank you."
There was no response.
