Chapter 17

Zoe

The following day, I find myself in the owlrey.

It's the comfortable phase of morning that exists between breakfast and lunchtime. The sunlight is soft, buttery, and strangely therapeutic. At this time of day, it seems as though conflict and pain cease to exist. However, that isn't the case for me.

An internal battle is raging in my mind.

I think of Abraham back home. His warm smile, his gentle eyes, his hugs that make you feel like everything will be okay. Everything about him is kind, and when I'm at home on the outskirts of Copenhagen, it's as though the world is in a state of eternal peace.

At Hogwarts, things are much different.

Abraham thinks that I'm living the dream up here. Receiving the best marks and climbing to the top of my class with ease. And if not that, he at least thinks I am trying my best to do so. He probably thinks that I've made plenty of friends, too. The reality is far from it. My grades have dropped so low that I now require tutoring from an asshole who I'm strangely drawn to, and most of my housemates hate me.

And so I'm up in the owlrey at this usually peaceful time of day, being eaten alive by guilt at how disappointed in me my grandpa would be if he knew how I was doing.

Stevie and Eric ushered me back to my fourposter late last night. The following morning, they were waiting at my bedside with water, a buttered muffin, and an explanation of what exactly I'd done last night. I couldn't believe how ridiculously I'd acted - the thought of it was embarrassing. So I decided to quickly sketch up a picture of the Hogwarts grounds, which I planned to send off to my grandpa along with a heartfelt note via owl.

After my bird flies off with my sketch and letter, I spend several minutes gazing out of the window.

I didn't tell Abraham about Julian and his violent ways. I didn't tell him about my constant fights with Blaise. And I didn't tell him about the knife-wielding stranger who broke into my dormitory only two nights ago. I painted a happy picture of my life at Hogwarts, because if I told him the truth, he would waste no time pulling me back home.

And despite everything that's happened so far, I don't want to leave.

***

"Alright, boys." Flint says, and then winks in my direction. "And ladies. This is our last November practice. And, our first practice with our newest teammate. We need to be on top of our game if we want to beat Gryffindor in our next match, which is in a week."

It's a cold, muggy day on the Hogwarts quidditch pitch. Despite my headache from the previous night, I've managed to drag myself down to the field for my first practice with the Slytherin team. It's hard to believe that I actually made the cut. I'm still thrilled.

"Let's kick ass and make those pansies eat grass. Places!" Flint sticks his gloved index finger in the air, making a circular motion. The boys congregate to their respective areas of the pitch, and I don't really know what to do, so I just stay where I am.

Once we launch into the air, practice flies by. We run through a couple drills that I conquer after a few minutes. I even manage to lob the quaffle past Julian, who acts as Slytherin's keeper. Being on a broomstick is truly a feeling of ecstasy for me. As I race through the sky, wind whistling past my ears and stinging my eyes, I find myself never wanting to let my feet touch the ground again.

During the last five minutes of practice, things begin to heat up.

"Fletch, here!"

Adrian Pucey is shouting in my direction as he levels his broom with mine. He tosses the quaffle at me. The feeling of the heavy ball in my hands is exhilarating, and I speed towards the opposite end of the pitch, tunnel vision overtaking me.

I hurl the quaffle, forgetting that there's a rather cold and unforgiving person hovering between the goalposts. Sure enough, it hits Julian square in the face. He lets out a sharp cry, and follows it up with a few racy words. Nevertheless, we continue on practicing as though nothing had happened.

***

"Well, you little shits, we did some good, solid work today, and I can't say that I'm not proud of mysel - you. Or, of us. I think we have a good shot at beating Gryffindor, if I'm being honest." Flint pauses to take a breath. "Is there anything else any of you wanna say? Now's your time."

It's quiet for a moment. The air feels humid and cool against my sticky skin. The team stands in a circle at the center of the field, nobody sure of just what to say.

"Just a reminder to the chasers that your goal is to throw the quaffle through the posts. Not at my face." Julian says, and then directs his cold gaze at Flint. "Told you this would happen if you let a girl on the team."

I don't have much trouble deciphering who that comment was about. 

"You're such a fucking ass." I blurt without thinking.

Julian's face slacks in disbelief, as though he's shocked somebody would stand up to him. "You want to say that again?" He asks.

"I said," I say, taking a step closer to him, "that you are such a fucking ass."

I'm maybe a foot away from him, and the entire team is now watching closely, collectively sucking in a nervous breath. I can feel the anger radiating off of Julian like a heatwave.

"Was that clear enough for you?"

He's shooting me daggers. It's a look that only a true enemy could assess you with. It's as if he wants me dead.

"That's enough." Flint says, sliding an arm between us. "Everyone back to the locker rooms."

As the boys, and Julian rather reluctantly, make their way off to the men's changing rooms, I pace to the opposite end of the pitch. I am sour with anger, my mouth pinched into a bitter line with harsh words I hadn't gotten out in time.

If Julian wants to play dirty, I'm game.

***

Later that night, I have tutoring again with Blaise.

To be truthful, our sessions barely involve studying anymore. My marks have hit rock bottom, and all I have done about it is pray that they don't send home some sort of report card like they do in muggle school. I can picture it - a thick envelope dropping through an open window in the loft above the flower shop, sealed by a thick, dark chocolate-y stamp that could only signify a message from Hogwarts. Abraham opening it, gasping at the parchment marked with several Poors and Dreadfuls, even an unlucky Troll. Then he'd fix up a batch of cupcakes (and forget to add eggs) to rid himself of the stress. The scenario is funny to imagine, but I know that if it really happened, it would make me cry.

I am still thinking about what happened after practice earlier. On the pitch. I think about Julian, and wonder how someone can be so filled with negativity. He reminds me of a dementor - cold and desiring nothing but to take happiness from others. I picture one in my mind, spindly fingers pulling a cloak back to reveal his porcelain face.

I'm a person of lively imagination. Little scenarios always floating through my mind.

A thick slab of uncomfortable silence falls between Blaise and I the moment I walk into the library. The unpleasantness that always seems to reside between us remains stiff and unforgiving. After what happened at practice today, my temper is already unsteady, and I may just snap if he makes one rude comment at me.

His lips don't move but I refuse to say a word, which eventually forces him to speak first.

"We need to study. Your marks are embarrassing."

Of course.

I don't say anything; remaining silent during this moment seems a much wiser decision than running my mouth. 

"Embarrassing me, in particular." Blaise feels the need to add this.

"How unfortunate. That your ego is that fragile, I mean." 

Blaise makes an irritated sound. "Just - just -" He says. His words are short and stringy. "I'm not in the mood tonight. Okay?"

I don't say anything in response. Keep my lips in a tight little line. I don't want Blaise to quit helping me altogether. We never get any work done, though, so I can't be sure why I don't want these late night arguments to end.

We sit there, the two of us, surrounded by another silence so tense that it is suffocating. My head feels hot, my skin crawly, and my heart is panicking in my chest. I am antsy in my seat - can't keep still. I pick at the frayed wood on the edge of the table, giving myself splinters. Tear tiny rips in my parchment. Crack each joint in each finger, drum them against the table, repeat.

I don't dare look at Blaise. The few peeks that I do sneak in show me that his behavior does not mirror mine. He is sitting very still, so still that I don't think he is breathing or blinking. It makes me uncomfortable, and I fidget some more.

Another five minutes pass. Neither of us say a word. So I gather my books and walk back to the Slytherin common room, leaving him alone on the first floor.

***

Why do most of the Slytherins seem to dislike me? Why is Blaise, well, the way he is? What would my life be like if I hadn't come to Hogwarts at all? My thoughts are the kind that can only truly come to life when your mind isn't preoccupied by anything else. Shower thoughts.

The common room is empty, amplifying the gentle sound of flame on log. It is late at night, and I'm not sure how long I've been sitting here. Blaise hasn't returned from the library yet. It feels as though we are the only two creatures awake in the castle, and that our paths are destined to cross at some point. I hope this isn't true. 

My feelings of irritation across the past few hours surge up when the portrait hole glides open and none other than Blaise walks through. I resist the urge to roll my eyes and release a cartoonish sigh.

The barrier of silence between us is still strong. I sit still as I listen to his footsteps, and grow annoyed when I realize they are getting louder, clearer, louder and clearer because he is walking towards me. What could he possibly have to say to me right now? I didn't plan on breaking our quiet, but I have a few nasty comments in my mind that I'd love to try out on him. As he approaches me, I stand up. I am fed up, oh so fed up, and I open my mouth to speak and that's when he kisses me.

It doesn't feel real. He's there, and I'm there, but it still doesn't. I don't move, don't know how to - not with how I'm feeling.

His lips are so soft against mine, barely touching. One of his thumbs is on my cheek, the rest of his fingers mixed in with the hair behind my ear. His other hand is on my waist, protecting the small of my back.

He pulls my body flush against his. I melt into him, feeling like I can't get enough of him.

Then suddenly, Blaise's hands are sliding off of me, and his nose is brushing against mine as he pulls away. We are standing inches apart, and only now do I realize how much bigger and taller than me he really is.

He looks at me in a way that drives me crazy inside. There is something gentle, yet strong and lustful, in his eyes that knocks the breath from my lungs.

Then, he paces over to the stairwell, and he disappears.