Chapter 6 : Trapped
| ||Rating: 15+||Chapter Reviews: 3|
Change Background: Change Font color:
We hurry down the corridor, our wands clenched tightly in our fists. Rounds are usually just a dull stroll around the castle, complete with an occasional telling off to a couple caught snogging in a remote corner or unused classroom. Oh what fun. But that crash sounded more serious. Either a student deliberately causing damage or something else even worse.
Another distinct bang comes, behind us now, followed by the sound of something rolling across a wooden floor. Potter and I look at each other, confused, before spinning around again. There’s a door, slightly ajar, one we missed while hurrying in the general direction of the first crash. I gesture to it with a small tilt of my head and he nods, moving towards the other side of it as I take my spot across from him.
He mouths something, and it takes me a moment to figure it out. On three? is his silent question. I nod and he reaches forward, gripping the handle. I watch his face for the signal. One. My fingers flex involuntarily around my wand. Two Deep inhale, face the door, shoulder pressed against the stone wall. “Three,” he says in an even tone and throws open the door. I rush in, holding my wand out in front of me, a spell already on my lips, ready for use. Potter is inside the abandoned classroom a moment later.
A scowl forms on my face as I survey the room. Not a person in sight. My eyes flicker around to different objects that pull my attention; the suit of armor on the ground, his helmet on the other side of the room, an overturned desk, a cabinet door swinging open. I move forward slowly, wand still lit as I hold it aloft, though the moonlight shining through the window is enough to illuminate most of the room, looking nearly full. Probably just starting to wane.
A small, pink thing catches my eye. It’s lying on the floor, about the size of a penny. My eyes narrow, and I’m just kneeling down beside it for a better look when the disgusting feel of a wet, gooey thing smacks into my cheek and clings there. I jump up, my heart instantly going into overdrive, and grab the small ball of goo, ripping it off my cheek. It takes a moment to recognize it, and when I do, I throw it on the ground, shuddering in disgust, adrenaline still pounding through me. I don’t care who you are; if a wad of recently chewed gum hits your cheek, you’re going to be completely and utterly revolted.
“Potter!” I screech, wheeling on him, situation forgotten. Who else would spit a wad of gum on my face? He spins around, having been inspecting the suit of armor, wand in the air. obviously expecting some scene of danger.
“Lily?” he asks, confusion on his face, seeing me standing there, wand raised, face red with anger. “What’s going on?” Ha! As if I’m falling for that act.
“You spit gum on my face!” I shout, about to cast one of the nastiest curses I can think when I hear it; that stupid, ugly, annoying cackle that can only come from one thing. The source of it zooms out of the broken cabinet, grinning gleefully as he points at me, continuing his cackle.
“Oooh, did the poor Miss Head get Peeves little gumsy on her cheek?” he asks in a sickly sweet voice, squawking out another laugh.
“You stupid little..!” I can’t even manage to form a proper insult, rendered unable to speak by my absolute rage. He. Spit. Gum. On. My. Cheek! “PEEVES!” He blows a raspberry at me, hovering near the ceiling.
“Redheaded Headie girl, sneaking in a room! Out flies gum from Peevesies mouth, pinky in the gloom! Smacks the Headie in the cheek, which looks just like her bum! Now the poor wee Headie girl, looks so very dumb!” he taunts in a horrible sing-song voice.
“Your rhymes aren’t even clever!” I yell at him, unable to think of anything witty myself as I imagine my hands around his stupid poltergeist neck. He laughs again and zooms out of the room, cackling all the while. The door slams shut behind him and I sprint the few steps to it, planning on following him or at least to get the Bloody Baron to do something to him. My hand closes on the handle and I give the door an angry yank. It doesn’t budge.
“Alohamora!” I command angrily, pointing my wand at the lock before giving it another quick tug. No improvement. My eyebrows knit together in confusion. What’s wrong with the door? “Finite!” I try, just in case some strange spell as been used. Another pull. Nothing.
The anger drains, it’s place quickly being taken by frustration mixed with a bit of panic. The door won’t open. If the door won’t open, that means I’m stuck in a room with Potter of all people.
His voice, directly behind me, startles me. “Here,” he says, and I step aside with my arms crossed over my chest, an angry expression on my face. He pulls on the door. No change. A frown pulls on his mouth and he puts his foot on the wall, both hands on the doorknob, pulling with all his strength. I can see his muscles tense up, and I’m momentarily distracted by them.
Gah! Lily! This is Potter! Being up this late after nearly no sleep last night must really be affecting my brain. He sighs in frustration and lets go, running a restless hand through his already ruffled hair.
“This thing isn’t budging,” he says, shaking his head. Potter, with all of his amazing...ahem, amazingly pathetic muscles, can’t open the door. It is not going to open. My eyes widen as pure panic shoots through me.
“No, it has to open. I can’t stay in here all night. I have to get back to the common room. I have to get a head start on that next essay, and I have to get out of this room!” I swallow, trying to force the panic down with it, and spend the next half hour pulling on the door, trying to get it to open.
Potter leans against the wall beside me, shaking his head and trying to convince me to give it up. “I know when a door isn’t going to budge, Lils. I’ve spent enough time breaking into offices and other classrooms to know-”
One look from me makes him backtrack, trying to cover up his comment about breaking into the professors’ offices. I just roll my eyes and get back to yanking on the stubborn thing.
Another half hour passes. Potter is lying on his back on one of the longer desks designed for two students, making objects zip around the room with his wand, a bored expression on his face. I’m giving my final tugs on the door. I’ve tried everything, all the spells I know, and the door hasn’t shown any change. I groan and lean back against the cursed thing, slowly sliding down until I’m sitting against it.
Potter glances over, one eyebrow raised. “Finally abandoned it, have you?” he questions, an amused look in his eyes. I give him a halfhearted glare, but I’m honestly too depressed to really work up a good one. A night in an unused classroom. Stuck with James bloody Potter. Brilliant. Exactly how I wanted to spend the night.
With a pathetic moan, I let my forehead drop to my knees, wrapping my arms around them. I stare into the darkness, willing some random person to waltz through the corridor and decide to randomly pull open this door. But for some reason, I’m highly doubting the probability of this. My attempts were useless. And now, curled up in my little ball of depression, I can only hope for myself to start getting sleepy so that I can just doze off. That would keep away the boredom. But the panic over being stuck in this room has excited all of my body, making me restless. This is going to be an incredibly long and difficult night.
I feel Potter slide down next to me but I don’t move, just give another pathetic groan. I feel him shake a little with silent laughter which motivates me to tilt my head, squinting my eyes up at him in an attempt at a glare. I’m sure it looks more like a pout though. Well, what do you expect? I’m depressed! Lily Evans cannot operate while depressed. It just doesn’t work that way.
“So, Lily,” he begins, making himself comfortable. “What’s your favorite book?”
I lift an eyebrow, though he’s not looking at me. Small talk? Please. He rolls his head to the side to catch sight of my expression. Apparently he finds some humor in it because he laughs and shrugs his shoulders.
“Do you have a better idea to pass the time?” he asks, smiling smugly at me. Prat. He knows I don’t. Unless curling into a ball on the floor is considered fun. Or a good time passer. But I don’t think it really counts as either. I sigh, and lean my head back against the door, staring up at the ceiling.
“I don’t have a favorite. I can’t pick between all of them,” I tell him grudgingly, staring at a splotch of something up on the wooden ceiling. “Yours?” I realize what I just asked and almost take it back. Potter probably hasn’t read a book in his life. But he surprises me by actually responding.
“Do Tales of Beedle the Bard count?” he asks. “Those clearly were deep, meaningful pieces of literature.” He’s joking around, and I’m surprised again, but this time at myself. For grinning.
“Alright then. Worst Hogwarts moment?” I ask, figuring we’ll be taking turns here. And soon, we’re swapping embarrassing stories. Well, mostly my moments are the embarrassing ones. Potter takes pride where others run in shame. A pattern emerges. Most of my moments were caused by Potter himself. And he remembers those in great detail, and takes great enjoyment in repeating the stories himself, getting a good laugh from them. This topic stops fairly quickly. Not because of lack of amusement on Potter’s part, but I think his arm might be protesting from all the punches it’s been receiving. As he continues to rub it, my suspicions are confirmed. Ha. Who says girls can’t punch?
Asking questions actually does pass the time pretty well. The questions get more interesting, and soon I’m actually loosening up, laughing, cracking some jokes of my own. As I relax more, I get more sleepy, slide further down the wall until I’m lying on my back, my arms behind my head.
“Favorite Head Boy?” he asks from his position next to me. I can’t see him as we’re both staring at the ceiling. I figure the splotchy stains on it can be considered stars.
I roll my eyes and reach a hand over to smack his arm. “James,” I reprimand, shaking my head.
“Really? Fancy that, mine too! We have so much in common, you and I,” he says. By his voice, I can just imagine the expression on his face. A ridiculous, dreamy, far-off look. I roll my eyes again before yawning, letting my eyes slide close. It must be really early morning now.
Sleepily, I mumble out, “One regret.” He’s really quiet after this, but I can’t be bothered to even peek at him. I’m just too tired. But he’s not answering my question. I know I’m slipping under, finally going into dreamland. Before I do, I manage to murmur, “I have one. Not...declining the offer to join the Slug Club.” I think he laughs, and that’s the sound that I fall asleep to.
I keep my eyes closed when I wake in the morning, slowly letting things come to me one by one. I must have woken up before my alarm, because I don’t remember it ever going off. And Alice would have woken me if I slept through it. My bed isn’t as comfortable as it usually is, which is strange. Maybe it’s just remnants from some dream I had. My pillow is comfortable enough though. I smile, snuggling into it. It’s warm for some reason. Maybe just the heat from my own head. My arm is slung across something. A weird position to be sleeping in. Did I fall asleep with a book and am cuddling it? It wouldn’t be the first time.
Something is slung across me as well though. It’s a comforting weight, warm, strong, protective. It makes me feel safe. A hand, on my waist. It feels nice though, I don’t want to- a hand?! My eyes snap open, though I instantly squint them because of the sun glaring in my eyes. And that’s when everything comes flooding back to me. My pillow is a certain James Potter’s chest, and my arm is draped across his stomach, holding him close to me. His arm is wrapped around me, though it’s limp. He must still be sleeping. Not for long.
I sit up in a flash and his arm drops off of me as I scuttle away from him, eyes wide as I try and get a handle on what happened. Potter and you were snuggling! my mind screams at me. I can’t tell if that’s elation or anger. I think it’s more of shock, with a hint of...extreme shock. What in the name of Merlin? I suppose I’m not really in control of my unconscious self. My dream mind could have been imagining him to be some gorgeous actor. Who knows? But I just can’t get over the fact that I was sleeping with Potter. I mean, I wasn’t sleeping sleeping with him, but still!
He sits up, confusion written across his face as he rubs a hand across it, blinking blearily. “Lily? What are you doing in the boy’s dormitory?” I watch as he remembers, waiting for his own reaction. But nothing ever comes. “Oh,” is all he says. “Right. Any luck with that door?”
I stare at him suspiciously. Does he not know that we were bloody snuggling? Because you’d think he’d react a little more if he did. By his expression, I’m thinking no. He must have woken up after I’d scuttled a safe distance away.
“Erm, I haven’t tried the door. I just woke up,” I tell him, running my hand through my hair to try and detangle it a bit. I catch myself in the act and stop. Can’t go around looking like I’m trying to be just like Potter.
“Oh,” he says, rising to his feet and stretching out. He reaches a hand down to me. I raise my eyebrows, but I grab hold as he pulls me to my feet. After I’m done stretching as well, we stare at the door thoughtfully. Surely somebody will have to walk by soon.
We take turns knocking/banging on the door and calling out for people to help us. It’s my shift when somebody actually responds.
I’m pounding on the door with both fists, getting fed up with the whole ordeal. “Hellooo?” I call, accenting it with two more solid bangs. My stomach is growling, and I really just want to take a shower, brush my teeth, and get to class. Great. Just another downfall of this mess. Surely Alice would take notes for me? Speaking of Alice, I’m going to have to give her a talking to for not going straight to Dumbledore about this. You’d think a best friend would be worried! “Hello? Is anybody out there? I need help! The door won’t open!” I call out, banging my fists against the door brutally. They’re definitely going to bruise.
And that’s when I hear footsteps. “Hey!” I call out. “Help!”
There’s a long pause. Finally, “Lily? Is that you?”
Just the sound of his voice sends anger flashing through me. I clench my fists tighter, picturing them banging up his face instead of the door. I can practically feel the tension in the room rise, Potter no doubt bristling with anger himself.
After an even longer pause, I finally am able to relax my jaw enough to answer. Even so, my voice is tight with anger. I sound like I’m fit to kill. “Yeah, Snape. It’s the mudblood.”