Chapter 2 : My Own Personal Gravedigger
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I’m sweaty and most likely smell. My mouth tastes foul, I scraped my knees from my oh-so-graceful leap from the carriage, and if life could get any worse I’m stuck with the damn fabulous four, all of whom, I might add, are walking faster than I can keep up.
And did I mention we’re walking up hill? Oh, yes—apparently Hogwarts’ other castle friends said that locating on impossibly high hills is the new black. It’s totally in fashion you should really try it sometime.
My knees begin to give, but no one notices. “Could you guys for the love of Merlin’s toenails SLOW THE FUCK DOWN?” I breathe. I fall on my knees, surely mussing up my slightly new uniform.
They all stop and turn around. Did I seriously just say that? Merlin’s toenails?
“I’m tired,” I mumble pitifully.
“We have to go on. It’s getting dark.” James Potter. Pompous leader of the band. Extremely attractive in every motion.
Oh, how he loathes me. And the exact reason for such loathing is yet to be deliberated.
My, my, my. The Marauders. Must I introduce them all? I’m sure the entire world knows of their infamous existence. We needn’t encourage them. If their heads were any larger I’m sure they would explode.
“But I can’t walk,” I whimper.
“We can leave you here then.”
“Can’t we just rest—for a little while?”
“She must be dehydrated from all that happened. She could pass out,” says the oh-so-adorable-I-want-to-stuff-you-in-a-box-and-ship-you-home Remus Lupin.
Peter Pettigrew—the fat one—wheezes. “Y-yes stopping sounds like a good—”
“Shut up, Wormtail.”
“Be nice to him.” I frown, “There’s nothing to yell at him for.” I get up grudgingly and wipe off my skirt.
“Well, I’m sorry that I had to jump out of the carriage to blow chunks in the forest, causing the entire damn carriage to tip us all out…. Oh, wait. That was you.”
Sirius Black. The epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. If possible.
But it is possible. All of it—concentrated into one 5'11” mass of manly goodness.
Oh, how I loathe him. And the exact reason for such loathing is yet to be deliberated.
Dumbledore’s swim trunks how beautiful that creature is.
Dumbledore’s swim trunks?
No that’s totally wrong! He’s totally out of my league. Sirius Black’s is pretty much a noble for goodness’ fucking sake. I’m poor. Emphasis on the P-O-O-R. …But his eyes are so—
“Are you listening to me?!” He snaps.
My daydream pops like a porcupine to a balloon and utter defeat and unwillingness to argue any further floods through.
“Yeah, I get it. I totally apologize,” I mumble. “Let’s go.”
Wait! What am I apologizing for? I blame it on the cookies!
They don’t say anything because they do think that I am the one to apologize, and that they are, under no circumstances, at the fault for anything for once in their lives.
But oh ho. Oh ho ho, are they wrong. It’s totally their fault that they decided to come into my cozy little carriage. It’s totally their fault for overreacting and shaking the already bumpy carriage even more. And most of all, it’s totally their fault that they were even born and came into my existence.
I’m shaking with so much anger that tears begin to well up into my eyes and my sinuses begin to act up again. Everything right now feels like a wreck. I want to kick down a tree then take that tree and smash them into as many other trees as that tree can take. And then when that’s over I’ll take another tree and bust the living crap out of another one. Then I want to burn it. Burn it all.
Or I could punch one of the four behind me in the face. Save the trees. Listen to that talking bear on muggle television.
…But I think I’ve dug myself into an already deep enough hole, plus the super human strength gene wasn’t passed down onto my generation.
I’M SO ANGRY!
But I don’t want to fight.
PUNCH ‘EM IN THE FACE!
It’ll cause a ruckus.
BURN IT ALL DOWN!
The little voices in my head begin to argue, making myself question how sane I really am.
Ugh, I feel so hopeless. I seriously want to tear my hair out. But I won’t. I need my hair. I clench my fist tight on my sides and clamp my teeth together, an overwhelming roller coaster of emotions cruising through my conscience.
A light bulb flickers on in my brain.
Oh. That explains the roller coaster of emotions. Why I feel so angry and frustrated and want to cry.
Why, why now? Why can’t I get angry at every single thing next week or tomorrow or yesterday? Only thinking of this makes me cry even more. Hot, bitter tears begin to roll down my cheeks.
Gawds, I can’t take this anymore.
OH, THE AGONY. I HATE MY LIIIIIIIFFE.
A hand lightly grazes my shoulder. I snap around to see Remus. Small—mousy—and a little bit frightened.
“Er, you alright?” he asks.
I sniffle. Oh, and here comes step two: utter diarrhea of the mouth. “Nooooo,” I wail. I refuse to look him in the eye.
Not the answer he was looking for.
“Well, erm, I know that sometimes they can be a little…” His voice trailed off but he really didn’t have to finish. “So, don’t take any of that seriously. They’re just a bit peeved.”
“A bit?” I sob. “T-that really hurt and I didn’t mean for you guys to—to—“ I hiccup, startling Remus a little. “I didn’’t want this to happen. I’m so sorry. I’m all angry with myself and school is starting and I’m all hormonal and—”
Someone behind me sucks in their breath.
I’ve said it. The word all men hate. I feel the air cringe and I can’t help but cringe back. It’s the word third to “commitment” and “children” that the male species just can’t stand to have whispered at the end of a seventy-foot pole. I’ve said the H word.
Now, what I don’t understand is what people hate about that word so much. Maybe they don’t know how to deal with it. Maybe they don’t understand it. People are afraid of things they don’t understand.
I mean, look at crop circles.
Oh, yes blame it on the innocent aliens. However, in reality, some kid was having some innocent fun, tipping over stalks of corn to make an artistic expression using an unusual medium in their trapped world of sameness, making a statement of nonconformity. Or maybe the corn had a party and some of them got a bit tipsy or hammered.
But whatever the reason, the word triggered an ultimate, non returnable awkwardness between me and them. I was untouchable. A leper. A PMS-ing hormonal leper.
They all stop in their tracks, even Remus. I keep walking, knowing the damage was already done with no need for any further episodes.
The hole that I had dug myself into is now six feet deep. I’ve dug my own grave. But no matter. We’re at the school entrance, and a grave is exactly what I need.
Suddenly I feel like collapsing.
I look up at the towering, oak doors that are open—welcome—or, at least that’s what they want you to believe. The inside of the castle is warmly lit and a cool breeze flows in and out of the doors. Really this is a trap. An inviting, warm, and cozy death trap.
Stopping made me realize how dizzy I had gotten. Cold sweat is dripping down my forehead, and a ground-splitting headache is crashing through my skull.
Oh, gawds. If I faint or pass out this would be the ultimate cliché of all time. I begin to lean on the side of the door for support and slide down the edge, when rapid footsteps come clacking towards us.
It’s Professor McGonagall—and she doesn’t look happy in the slightest. I straighten up immediately.
Her eyebrows are arched a mile high, and her slightly wrinkled face is turned down in a sneer. She examines us over her spectacles and crosses her arms into a tight, constrictor-like twist.
“I should have known,” she says as she purses her lips, “that the one empty carriage just so happened to carry you four. I cannot imagine what you had to do to get those poor thestrals to run off like that. One week’s worth of detentions and eighty points from Gryffindor.”
I’m standing so close to her that I can feel the anger that’s radiating from her body. Has she not noticed me?
James scoffs in disgust. “But it really isn’t our fault, you see—”
“Don’t argue, Mr. Potter,” she snaps.
“Professor, for once would you please believe us when I say that we had nothing to do with this. It’s all her fault!” Sirius points a sharp an accusatory finger at my face. “If she hadn’t shot out of the carriage to heave out her innards, then we would’ve gotten here normally!”
“Mr. Black,” she hisses in anger. “It is unhealthy to use an innocent girl as a scapegoat. You should be ashamed of yourselves!”
No. Please, please, please. If they all get in trouble and I walk away home free….
The consequences will be horrifying. Imagine what they would make me do!
“But Professor—,” I squeak. I can hear my heartbeat drumming in my ears.
“No, dear,” she somewhat snaps at me. “Whatever this group of young men told you to do in order to protect them, I highly advise you not listen to anything they said. The deed is done. You may go on into the Great Hall. I will explain everything to Professor Slughorn.” She pulls me behind her and glares at the group of boys who will soon be the death of me.
Oh, and did I mention that I’m in Slytherin? Apparently the sorting hat has a wonderful sense of humor and likes to send the poorest girl in school to the house with the richest people in school. The world is laughing at the wonderful joke that I am.
My peers can be, and are, very cruel to me. One horrifying event occurred in what seemed like yesterday when I was a lowly little first year. Many call it initiation, but I doubt that you can call it that when this “initiation” has been going on for six years. An older Slytherin came up to me one day and asked me if I needed any help. She seemed nice—and extremely tall. I told her that I couldn’t find my class, and she kindly walked me to it. Finally, she gave me a reassuring pat on the back and went on her way. Well, what I didn’t know was that the reassuring pat on the back was really a hoax when I then realized an hour or so later that a sign was taped to me saying “Feed me, I’m poor”.
It was very funny. Everyone laughed.
I try to forget that quite mortifying event. And I have.
All of them—James, Sirius, Peter, even Remus are glaring at me over the shoulder of the now lecturing Professor McGonagall. At this point in time, I have dug the deepest grave in history. The Grand Canyon is envious of how deep in shit I am right now. One Slytherin girl has cost Gryffindor eighty points within the first five hours of the school year. I have caused the most powerful students in this school the worst amount of trouble when they, in reality, never did anything.
And yes, I’ll admit it. They’re innocent.
There’s one more reason to hate Slytherin. One more reason to hate that one poor girl from Slytherin. One more reason to be afraid of the Marauders.
The whole world seems to hate me at this moment, and I’m scared shitless.
(A/N): Whew! I've made it! I'm REALLY sorry it took too long, there were books to read and english papers to write, and I must've submitted this three times already D; Next one won't take as long, I promise c:
Hope you liked it. Leave a review! :D
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