I don’t think I’ve ever felt so horrible in my entire life.
I turned over, letting out a mangled groan of distressed agony as my stiff backbones popped. My forehead is throbbing, I can’t feel my blooming toes and I feel like someone just crisped all of my major internal organs with a fierce Sizzling Charm. In short: not so good.
I tried to pick myself up, but I toppled back onto my bed, discovering that somehow I’d forgotten how to use my arms. I tried moving a finger, and it twitched a tad. Just barely, though. Shit. What in the name of Voldemort’s saggy old bollocks is wrong with me?
My eyes are crusted over with what I affectionately call “eye shit”. There’s so much of it I ripped some of my eyelashes off when I eventually managed to wrench them open. At first everything was just one mind-numbing blur.
‘Gah.’ I said out loud to no one in particular. My voice was so husky it could’ve pulled a sled. I let out a sigh. My breath smelt similar to a troll’s carcass slathered with cream and left out in the sun for a month. I wish I were exaggerating. I ran my tongue stiffly over my teeth, tasting something nasty. ‘Ugh.’
‘Oh, you’re up now, are you?’ someone to my left said.
I turned my head, wincing. ‘Blimey.’ Was all I managed.
Elisha gave me look. ‘You got completely sozzled last night. Bleeding drunk, you were. Didn’t think you had it in you.’ At least, that’s what I think she said, but that made no sense. Me? Drunk? It’s like saying Professor McGonagall likes to pole dance in her spare time. Barking mad.
‘Eh?’ I croaked, confused.
‘You abso-bloody-lutely pissed last night.’ Elisha allowed herself a beaming smile. I detected a trace of awe in her voice. She tucked her feet up, pushing her robes back.
‘You got changed early.’ I observed, blinking slowly and trying to clear my head.
‘Early?’ Elisha snorted with laughter. I waited patiently until her laughter subsided, trying valiantly to ignore the painful throbbing of my head. Actually, I’m throbbing everywhere. ‘It’s not early, Rosie.’
My heart leapt in terror. ‘You’re saying I’m late for class?’ I craned my neck around with some difficulty. The dormitory is completely empty. Iris and Poppy have apparently gone down for breakfast. I’m a bit disoriented – usually I’m the first one up. To top it all off, it’s Transfiguration first thing Friday; McGonagall was going to teach us how to transfigure raccoons into feather dusters.
‘Fuck, fuck and double fuck.' I groaned, hefting myself off and trying to righten myself. This is, however, an enormous mistake. My stomach instantly churned violently, and I automatically clutched at my belly, moaning and groaning. ‘Bloody hell…’ I said faintly.
‘Whoa – steady…’ Elisha looked nervous. ‘Don’t—’
I then belched forth a wondrous and frankly quite amazing deluge of sick all over the dormitory floor. I reckon quite a bit of it went over me. A multitude of bits of half-digested spaghetti and last night’s blueberry tarts were floating in the brown-tinged puddle, slowly spreading itself cheerily all over the polished wooden floor. It smelled faintly of cucumbers and something spicy.
‘—barf.’ Elisha finished, looking rather green herself. ‘Now do you believe me when I said you were drunk last night?’
‘How is that even possible?’ I asked weakly, feeling very out-of-sorts and bewildered. What kind of alternate universe have I landed myself in? One where I get trashed and be late to class, apparently. I don’t think I’ve ever been late for class before. It’s rather a new experience for me.
‘I didn’t believe it myself when I saw you.’ Elisha shrugged, delicately side-stepping the sick. ‘Scourgify.’ She muttered, effectively cleaning up the mess. ‘You didn’t come up for hours when you went to that Gryffindor victory part last night. I waited up for you for ages, then I just decided to get some sleep. Then someone carried you up here and dumped you on your bed.’
‘That’s utter cow dung.’ I proclaimed. ‘You’ve been my friend for the last – what, five years, yeah? You of all people should know I’m the least likely person in the whole of Hogwart’s to get plastered.’
‘I thought so too.’ Elisha grinned. ‘Until today.’
‘I was probably just Confunded by some stupid Slytherin, or something. I certainly feel like it.’
‘Whatever you like.’ Elisha pursed her lips a little.
‘Right, now I’ll just have to get to class.’ I said, standing up. The floor lurched from beneath me, and I staggered, grabbing one of my bed’s wooden posts.
‘Um – Rose? I think there’s something you need to know.’ Elisha said cautiously.
‘I think you might be a little too late for class.’
‘I reckon I can just about make it if I skip breakfast and just grab a banana—’ Now, if I can just remember how to put one foot in front of the other and haul myself to the Transfiguration classroom without passing out cold and/or dropping dead…
Elisha showed me the magical watch hanging on her wrist.
I glanced at the watch and promptly had five minor heart attacks, three coronaries, half a stroke and permanent mental damage on the left side of my brain. ‘It’s twelve thirty one? You’re not serious.’
‘’Fraid I am.’ Elisha giggled, then clapped a hand over her mouth when she saw the expression of cataclysmic horror on my face. ‘So I think there’s not much point of you going to class today when you’ve already missed about three quarters of the lessons.’
I sat back down on my bed, feeling faint again. A somewhat familiar feeling stirred in my bowels.
‘Please don’t go into shock, I don’t think I’ll be able to lug you down to the Hospital Wing alone.’ Elisha grabbed my arm painfully.
‘How can I not go into shock? I’ve just discovered I got roaring drunk for the first time in my relatively responsible life, that I’ve just slept in after eight for the first time in ten years and I missed –’ I did a quick count in my head, which was fairly impressive. I didn’t think I’d even be able to remember what color my hair was. ‘- about four important lessons in the first week of my OWL year. I should be having out cold right now.’ I tried to repress hysterics.
My Mum would also have been traumatized if she saw me in my current state. No child of Hermione Jane Granger would ever sleep in/get drunk/miss classes. It just didn’t happen. Well, of course, with the exception of RIGHT NOW. Dad would probably just clap me on my back and grin and say something stupid like, ‘Good going, Rosie’O.’. Mum and Dad are just about as different as the Weird Sisters and a gospel choir, and yet they’ve been married for twenty years. Go figure.
A horrible thought struck me. ‘I didn’t – do anything stupid last night, did I?’ I asked Elisha uncertainly. ‘I mean – other than getting tooled and passing out and all that.’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘I didn’t – happen to lose the flower of my precious virginity last night, did I?’ I clutched at my stomach again, abruptly terrified at the thought of some mini-zygote forming somewhere in my uterus right now. Just to make things clear, the “flower of my precious virginity” thing came from my darling father and mother when they decided to give me the dreaded Sex Talk when I was about thirteen. I’ve been mentally scarred ever since.
‘I don’t think you went that overboard.’ Elisha frowned. ‘I hear any sexy times going on in your side of the dorm, anyway.’
‘Thank Merlin.’ I sighed. ‘At least I’m not spawning.’
‘Hey, Rosie.’ Elisha piped up after we sat together in comfortable silence for a few moments. ‘I don’t know if this is true, but a few Gryffindors were saying to me just now how you said you’d promised them something last night.’
‘Eh?’ I don’t remember anything about a promise.
‘Er – something to do with Quidditch.’ Elisha looked a little apprehensive. ‘Something about you riding a broomstick for them.’
I let out a laugh, sounding like I was hacking up thumbtacks. ‘They’re just taking the piss.’ I might’ve been drunk, but I trust myself enough to know that even when I was drunk I wouldn’t have been that blindingly stupid.
‘Alright, then.’ Elisha said, but she still looked a little uncertain. She glanced at her watch again. ‘You might want to go get a bath. Give yourself a good scrubbing. And a thorough tooth-brushing. Throw in some mouthwash too, actually.’ She sniffed daintily at my breath. ‘Actually, drinking the mouthwash would be better.’
‘Thanks.’ I said, just barely keeping the sarcasm out of my crackly voice.
I adore Hogwarts, I really do, but there’s one thing I’ve never been able to stand about it – the showers.
You’d think in the twenty-first century they’d update the plumbing system a little, but no, the showers haven’t changed for the past hundred or so years. Oh, we have showerheads, but they’re so old and rusty it’s a wonder they don’t fall apart every time we handle them (come to think of it, they’re probably kept together by magic). The water that comes out of it is as cold as a brass toilet seat in an outhouse in the wee morning hours of January. I heard some dorms have defective showers – that is, they fly out of their handles and conk you something fierce on your head if you happen to sing (or rather warble and screech, if you’re as tone deaf as me) a little too off-key in the shower.
I tentatively stepped into the shower, still feeling really, really horrible. My stomach felt perilously empty as I realized I hadn’t eaten in twelve hours. I flexed my fingers, preparing for what was about to come next.
Then, placing one foot unsteadily on the mucky tiled walls, I grasped the rusty shower cap and twisted for all I was worth. This is one battle I have to fight every single time I want to take a nice shower.
Grunting loudly, I thrashed around, trying to get the tap to budge. I suspect that the tap isn’t actually properly rusted shut. More likely that that the fecking tap is simply holding fast just to annoy us hapless students.
‘Open – up – stupid – tap –’ I grumbled out loud, thinking about the red, swollen welts and grooves that would inevitably appear on my fingers later on.
I heard, rather than felt, the tap give way. A loud shrieking screech – the sort of screech you get when you forcibly rub metal against metal. Before I could do my customary Jump Out Of The Way Before The Sub-Zero Water Hits Your Skin thing, a deadly gush of water spurted – yes, literally spurted – out of the angry showerhead, drenching me in ice.
‘Aaaaaargh!’ I shrieked, jumping around like maggots when you fry those little buggers in hot grease. ‘COLD.’
Then, the water abruptly subsided to no more than a pathetic little trickle. I spent the next twenty minutes trying to collect as much ice-cold water as I could in my cupped hands and rubbing it hastily all over my back, cussing creatively and glaring at the brass showerhead. The hangover didn’t do much to improve my mood.
I must say I certainly didn’t expect myself to become so wild in my fifth year. I don’t even recognize myself anymore. Where was that (mostly) shy, (usually) reserved, (occasionally) well-mannered swotty Rose Weasley I used to know? Right. From now on I shall not engage myself in any more potentially risky or dangerous activities. I need to get everything all straightened out, get my life back on track, I suppose. Goodness, getting drunk and missing classes?
Next thing you know I’ll be flying around on broomsticks. Snort. Yeah, sure.
When I get down to the Common Room, I see about ten people still sprawled around everywhere, laying in rather compromising positions. There’s Loren Bagpipes, Ignos Efferve, Enid Maladie and a few others I don’t recognize. Loren Bagpipes is draped across a sofa, skirt riding up and exposing her rather beachy white thighs and a pair of knickers with an embarrassing pattern of squids on it. Ugh. The Common Room is, however, clean as a whistle. Seems the house elves already got to work.
I unsteadily climb out of the Fat Lady’s portrait hole, pausing for a bit to catch my breath and make the spots dancing in front of my eyes go away. And people think a few hours of inebriated fun is worth the crippling hangover that comes later?
The corridors aren’t very crowded, but students shrank away from me as I lumbered and staggered through. I must’ve looked terrifying to them, what with my bloodshot eyes, pallor rivaling that of a bowl of uncooked porridge and wet, stringy hair. Plus, the fact that I was stopping every once so often to lean on my thighs and breathe noisily through my blocked nostrils probably didn’t help.
I’m about halfway to the Great Hall, climbing down a stupid staircase when my feet sank right through that invisible step that every usually remembers to jump. My left foot lodged itself firmly in the hole, clamping around it rather painfully. I lunged forward, arms flailing. Miracles of miracles, I didn’t manage to fall flat on my face this time.
‘Ouch.’ I said out loud, earning myself quite a few stares from passers-by.
Isn’t this just fan-fucking-tastic?
Another bout of dizziness overcame me. ‘Ooh.’ I muttered, sitting down wearily on the steps. I placed my head in my shaking arms and just waited. Merlin, I’m really, really regretting getting so arseholed last night. I thought about the pile of homework that’d surely be waiting for me tonight. I’ll have to pull an all-nighter to get everything done. And I’ll have to borrow some notes from Elisha, Poppy or Iris. Maybe get them to teach me what they learnt today – gah. I allowed my mind to wander, wondering if jumping off the highest tower in Hogwarts right now would solve any of my problems.
‘Need a hand?’ someone said somewhere above me, interrupting my vaguely suicidal thoughts.
I looked up blearily, blinking rapidly. A blond fellow with distinctly grey eyes towered over me, hands casually stuck in his jean pockets. Took me a moment for my slow brain to realize who it was. ‘Er – Scorpius Malfoy, right?’.
He nodded, smiling faintly. ‘You need a hand?’ he repeated his question.
‘That’d be nice.’ I managed to say. Up close, Scorpius Malfoy was… somewhere above average, I reckon. Maybe not as fit as Iris made him out to be, but close enough. Besides, I prefer dark-haired blokes to fair-haired ones. Dunno why.
‘Steady yourself.’ He grasped my calf tightly with both hands. I braced myself against the stairway railing, thinking about just how humiliating this was. Scorpius Malfoy tugged and pulled, and from my position I could see the feathery top of his hair. His hair looked good. Better than mine, even. Merlin, this is depressing. A bloke’s hair being silkier and nicer than yours, I mean.
My leg popped right out of the invisible step and I was thrown off balance. Malfoy did nothing to steady me as a flailed and flapped. You know, generally looking like a daft bugger.
‘Thanks.’ I said, not quite able to keep all the sarcasm out of my voice. I tottered down the remainder of the stairs, continuing my death-defying journey of epic proportions to the Great Hall.
‘Are you sick, or something?’ Malfoy fell easily into step with me.
‘No.’ I replied succinctly, trying to shake him off.
‘Really? Because you look bloody awful.’
‘Thanks for that.’ I said sarcastically. ‘Because every girl simply adores to be told that they look like utter shit.’
‘Have you been drinking?’ Malfoy peered closely at me. I leaned away, getting uncomfortable.
‘None of your sodding business.’ I’m usually not this sharp with relative strangers but like I said, my mood was decidedly not good that day.
‘You have!’ Malfoy looked shocked. Well, that’d be an understatement. He looked as though I’d just told him Dumbledore was actually a woman. ‘I thought you never drank.’
‘I don’t usually, but…’ argh, I’m really not in the mood to go over this again. ‘Let’s just say I’m not every going to drink again. I’ll have you know that I missed some classes, too.’
‘You missed your classes?’ Now Scorpius looked like there’d be no more surprises for him – he’d seen them all. ‘You?’
‘How much alcohol did you consume, exactly?.’
‘Too much.’ I hazarded, pursing my lips.
‘Is that why you promised your mates that you’d fly?’
‘I heard something about you making some drunken promise to fly a broomstick today from my mates.’ Malfoy shrugged, hair glinting. ‘It didn’t sound very plausible to me, considering how hard everyone has ridden you these past few days about… the Boggart thing.’ He looked enormously uncomfortable at bringing that up. Needless to say, my mood curdled even further.
‘Don’t believe everything your arsehole-y mates tell you.’ I grumped. ‘They’re just taking the piss. I never said anything of that sort.’ We were reaching the Great Hall now, walking past those huge doors. A few students were glancing over, evidently bewildered that a Weasley and a Malfoy were actually acknowledging each other.
‘Rightyho.’ Malfoy said, not showing any external signs of being annoyed that I’d slagged his mates off by calling them arseholes. Odd.
Malfoy buggered off with a cheery, ‘See you.’ and veered off towards the other side of the Great Hall where the Slytherin table was.
I trudged over to my own table, trying to slip in as unnoticed as possible. Not a very difficult feat, considering about half the Gryffindor population were completely zonked out from last night. James had this glassy look in his eye as he spooned some spinach into his mouth, completely missing his gaping gob and hitting his cheek instead. Albus fared no better; he was sprawled on the Gryffindor table, plates and cutlery knocked aside as he snoozed in broad daylight. Fred and Hugo were leaning against each other trying to keep themselves conscious long enough to fill up their stomachs. A few others were clutching their heads in agony.
‘Rosie!’ James croaked, a big grin appearing abruptly on his pale face. ‘Just who I was waiting for!’
‘Top of the morning to you, James.’ I croaked back, settling myself gingerly on a seat. The food displayed before me suddenly didn’t seem so appetizing anymore.
‘I’m going to kill the both of you for making me drink.’ I directed my threat towards Freddie and Hugo, both of which looked suitably horrified.
‘Had no idea Firewhiskey was so strong.’ Hugo explained shortly, eyes pleading. ‘I’m feeling just about as shitty as you are.’ Fred mumbled incoherently.
‘Urgh. Where’s Elisha? Poppy? Iris?’
‘They finished lunch a little while ago.’
‘Great.’ I sighed, shakily flopping a chicken drumstick onto my plate. ‘Just great.’
‘Hey, Rosie!’ Veronica Imp, who doesn’t look as hungover as the rest of us, piped up. It was then that I realized she was glued to James’s side, arms clasping James side and holding on for dear life. ‘Remember that promise you made yesterday?’
‘Eh?’ this is the third time today I’ve heard about some mythical promise I supposedly made.
‘You know…’ she rolled her baby-blues expressively, as though exasperated at my slowness. ‘Quidditch. Broomstick. Does that remind you of anything?’
I felt a twinge of uncertainty. Everyone’s been going on about this broomstick ride I promised. Could there possibly be a smidgen of truth in it? Then I dismissed the thought. No way. Impossible. That was just pure madness. ‘Not really.’ I said, digging viciously into my drumstick.
‘Have a glass of orange juice, they say it makes the hangover feel better.’ Dominique slid over, silvery hair flying. ‘Had fun last night, did you?’ she said slyly.
‘Not if your idea of fun is crippling headaches and near-death experiences.’ I said soggily. ‘Hand me a glass of orange juice, will you?’
Hugo, who’s closest to the orange juice jug, groped around for the smooth handle of the orange jug on his right. His hand shook and trembled violently, unable to fully sustain lifting the jug. By the time it reached my eagerly awaiting hands there was only about a millimeter left of orange juice sloshing about at the bottom. ‘Oooargh.’ Is all I get for an apology from Hugo. The table was streaked with lurid orange liquid, and a lot of robe sleeves deeply marinated in it, though not all of the robe wearers seemed to notice.
‘I remember the promise, too.’ Fred said hoarsely. ‘You swore yesterday you were going to ride a broomstick to prove to everyone you weren’t afraid of broomsticks.’
‘I did no such thing.’ I spluttered, but inside I was beginning to doubt myself. After all, I’d been awfully drunk last night.
‘You did, so!’ Hugo shook himself out of unconsciousness long enough to mumble.
‘Did so!’ Hugo returned childishly.
‘You bloody well did !’
‘I bloody well didn’t!’
‘Okay, okay.’ Dominique cut through smoothly, giving each of us a reprimanding glare reminiscent of Molly Weasley (both Molly Weasleys). ‘You two have the maturity level of month old fetuses, honestly.’
‘No, I don’t!’ I barked back, horrified. I don’t remember anyone every calling me immature. ‘I am an astonishingly mature and adult young woman.’
‘Well then, you’re not bloody acting like one.’ Dominique said calmly.
‘I’ll prove it to you you did vow to ride a broomstick for us yesterday night.’ Fred waved over a couple of groggy sixth years. ‘Hey! Hey mates, you remember Rose, right? Rose Weasley!’
A boy lurched over, breath reeking. ‘Rose Weasley…’ he repeated my name, taking me in. Then he lit up. ‘You were at the party last night, weren’t you?’
‘Er – yeah.’
‘Excellent. Where’s that broomstick ride you promised yesterday?’
I’m shocked into silence.
‘Now do you believe me?’ Fred turned around a little too quickly and he screeched in woe as his stiff neck cracked a little.
‘I—’ I honestly don’t know what to say. ‘I—well. I was completely tanked, what’d you expect?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t mind so much but some hundred people heard you.’
I felt faint. ‘Hundred?’
‘Yeah. You were going on about us being wrong about you being terrified of Quidditch and that you’d ride one to prove your point.’ Hugo’s watery eyes instantly glittered at the thought of me embarrassing myself. ‘I dunno, but I bet some people’d be pretty condescending if you’re going to dismiss the broomstick thing like this.’
I looked around, flabbergasted. James, Fred, Albus and Dominique were all staring back. Veronica Imp was too busy checking if she owned more than one-and-a-half brain cells.
A group of people passed by, chatting animatedly. One of them, Gina-something, paused unexpectedly in her tracks and waved at me. ‘Hey, Rose! You riding your broomstick after lunch?’
I let out a shrill shriek of fear, and Gina-something stepped back a little.
This is not happening.
‘Er – Rose… I don’t suppose you couldn’t just ride the broomstick just to get it over with?’ James suggested.
I shot him an agonized glare. ‘I can’t. I’m—’ I sucked in a breath. ‘horrible at Quidditch.’
‘So? Plenty of people are horrible at Quidditch.’ Fred shrugged, standing up and wincing. ‘Uh oh.’
I see why Fred ‘Uh-oh’ed. A group of twentysomething people are making their way over, necks wrapped in scarves. ‘Hey!’ Brianna Vane waved cheerfully. ‘Rose, you riding that broomstick anytime soon?’
Because Brianna Vane’s voice is as loud as the colorful (and often horrendous) sweaters my Dad wears, several people jumped out, looking rather excited. ‘Alright! I was wondering when you were going to ride.’ A third-year boy enthused. ‘I’ll go get my sweater – it’s freezing out.’ And he sped off.
‘Wait—wait—’ it’s like watching a snowball roll down a hill. You know, how it slowly gathers more and more snow until it’s sodding huge and ready to plow down anything in its path.
More people start mumbling and giving me interested looks.
‘Hey, you going to ride now?’
‘Blimey, I’d better get some mitts—’
‘I’m definitely not going to miss this—’
‘I don’t suppose you can just hover here and there with your broomstick, just to satisfy them?’ Dominique noticed the petrified look on my face. ‘I don’t think they’ll be going away anytime soon.’
‘You don’t understand.’ I insisted desperately. ‘I am an atrocious Quidditch player. If I get on a broomstick there is a very strong possibility that I will splinter all the bones in my body.’
‘You and your hyperboles.’ Fred rolled his eyes. I don’t reckon any of them know just how appalling I am on a broomstick.
Dobby Longbottom strolled over, looking animated. ‘C’mon Rose, I’ll go get you a decent broom. Get on that pitch and prove them wrong, yeah?’
I repeated again that I was really, really bad at Quidditch.
Dobby hesitated. ‘Well, you can be that bad, right?’
I am a dead woman.
It seems that I’ve landed myself in quite the quandary.
‘Go on!’ my arsehole of a brother, Hugo, is just standing there in the corner, wind ruffling his red hair, not lending a hand to help his elder sister.
I abhor him, I really do. He knows full well I can’t do bollocks with a broomstick. I shoot him the filthiest glare I can manage. And I know it’s pretty filthy, I’ve practiced loads of times in front of a mirror to scare first-years when they don’t listen to Rose The Prefect.
‘How exactly do you ride a broomstick?’ I’d asked James at the very last minute before I was forced to meet my doom. James simply laughed, apparently under the impression I was making a funny. I suppose something in my expression told me I’d never been more serious in my entire life. Well, you tend to get more serious when looking straight at death. ‘Just relax and… sort of convey your thoughts into the broomstick. Don’t worry, I don’t think you’re that terrible.’
I loosen my fingers, trying to relax but failing miserably. Convey my thoughts to the broomstick? How exactly do you do that? I thought maybe pressing my forehead to the broomstick and attempting to pass on FLY AS SLOWLY AS HUMANELY POSSIBLE to the broomstick but I got the vague idea that wouldn’t work. Plus it might look a little batty.
‘Alright.’ I stared up at the sky, hair whipping around my face. Maybe if I stall long enough it’ll rain. Or an earthquake will come visiting. Maybe even a hurricane. Freak troll invasion, perhaps? Please? Come on, I’m not even asking for much. Even a mysterious and unexplainable shower of Flobberworms would be sufficient.
‘Sometime this century?’
‘I’m freezing my privates off in this cold, hurry up.’ someone complained, I couldn’t tell who. There were several shouts of agreement and hoots of laughter.
‘Okay, okay!’ I said desperately.
I looked around. Really, was it necessary for so many people to come and see me fly? I mean, I know they’ve been waiting for this, but really. Don’t they have anything else marginally more exciting going on in their lives?
There was ol’ Albus, all muffled up in a weird knobbly scarf and a hat Dominique probably knitted for him (she was going through her knitting phase). James, Dobby Longbottom. Next to him was tiny Molly Weasley, then Roxanne Weasley and her bestie, Nellie. Lucy Weasley’s here too. A few others from Gryffindor, a quiet girl from my year, Fred Weasley and Henry Wood, Owly Abbot and his glasses a mile thick, Raymond Barksmith… all in all, I’d say about thirty people are standing in the middle of the Quidditch Pitch, freezing and waiting for me to kick off.
I gulped. There’s no fecking way I can fly, not with all of them watching.
‘Just ‘fess up and admit that you can’t fly!’ Hugo cupped his woolly hands around his mouth and yelled, a huge grin on his face.
‘She’ll fly when she wants to!’ Elisha, one of the best girls I know, shouted back. She’d been absolutely horrified when she’d found out I’d been literally pushed into doing this.
‘I’ll fly, I’ll fly.’ I muttered more to myself than anyone.
Okay, deep breaths, Rose.
Exhaaaaaallllee… I inadvertently inhaled too much frosty air and choked.
‘Right, here I go!’ I screeched, once my sinuses cleared completely. Oh Merlin, I’m going to humiliate myself in front of seventy people. Now they get to see just how ghastly my non-existent skills on a broomstick are.
Scattered applause, and a , ‘You go, Rosie!’
I steeled myself up, uttered a short prayer, tried to stop my fingers from trembling and launched myself into the air.
Author’s Note: Phew! *looks up at document* that is, quite possibly, the longest chapter I have ever written. Almost five thousand words! Eleven pages of type in size 10 lettering! :D Yay? Alright, hope you guys enjoyed it. Leave me a little something if you do. (: Please do :( my review count seems to have dwindled drastrically and I seriously dunno if I should continue if no one's enjoying it D: