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Chapter 4 : Alive and Guilty.
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Hey. Guess what?
Nah, not really. I was just awkwardly tied into a bedpost with my head wrapped in stupid gauze.
Why was I tied?
I have no idea.
“…you said she’d wake up! Why isn’t she?! And what if she loses her memory, forget us all and be suicidal for the rest of her life?! How would you explain that, you?!”
Maybe this has something to do with my Mum, who is being the next Voldemort right now.
“Honey, calm down,” Dad said, patting her back.
“Calm down, sweetums? They tied my daughter to a bedpost and she won’t wake up! You’re-you’re telling me to calm down?!” Mum flared up, her blonde curls flying in every direction.
I never really told her how I hate her hair. And how unfortunate of me to get it.
“Mum, I hate your hair.” I blurted out.
Everyone craned their necks to look at me before speaking in Alien languages at the same time.
Uh, remind me not to bump my head on some stupid post, again.
I stared at them dumbly.
“How are you feeling, Car?” Dad asked, smiling widely at me.
“Weird but fine,” I smiled back at him. “Why am I tied up, dad?”
As quickly as I said “tied”, the ropes disappeared. I rubbed my wrists soothingly.
“Are you sure you’re fine?” Mum asked, shooting daggers at the Healer across her. “I want to make sure, Carla.”
“Yeah,” I said “besides not remembering anything, I feel fine. So you can stop killing the Healer with your eyes, Mum.”
She fumed, crossing her arms.
“M-Mrs. S-Skeet…” Mum raised an eyebrow. “H-Holmes, c-can you p-proceed to the c-counter for the-?” the Healer stuttered. Gees, I think he just got trauma. The poor thing.
“Come on, honey,” Dad said, shaking his head disbelievingly and winking at me. “You heard the Healer. You guys want anything?”
“Coffee, I guess,” Rupert said, grinning.
“Can I have sugar? I really want ice cream right now.” I pleaded.
“Hm, we’ll see darling,” Dad said before waving at us and closing the door. The healer following them closely.
Rupert quickly turned to me. “Well?”
I furrowed my eyebrows at him. “Well what?”
“Well, how are you really feeling?”
“Dandy,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Now what is it you wanna spit out, Rupert?”
He sighed. “Don’t do that again. You scared the wits out of us.”
I smiled at my brother. And I never thought bumping my head on some post made the world seemed better.
“Hey,” I said presently. “Why was I tied? And how long was I out?”
“Ah, I knew we’d come to this.” He said, taking a seat at the chair beside my bed. He cleared his throat before launching on a story of what happened next after I bumped my head-can I just call it ‘incident’? I’m tired of saying it the long way.
Apparently, I kept interrupting him so he’s never been able to go on with the story.
Yeah, you just gotta love a sister like me. You just gotta.
“Shut up, Car!” he said impatiently.
I snickered. “Sorry. Did you just say I don’t want to be tied down?”
Oh Merlin, I am one stubborn witch.
“Exactly why they have to tie you in a bedpost forcefully,” he said, shaking his head.
“Oh, okay. So how long was I out?”
“Three days. This is your fourth day in St. Mungo’s.”
“No way,” I said disbelievingly. “I should be looking for a job now, you know? I. Should. Be. Looking. For. A. Job. Now.”
“Relax, sis. Don’t you want this? A break?”
“Easy for you to say that, you’ve always been Mum and Dad’s favorite,” I said teasingly. “Always the lucky kid,”
“Ah, once again, shut up, Carly.”
I stuck out my tongue at him.
“Pathetic.” He commented.
“Goody-goody two shoes.”
“Feminine?! What the heck?! Masculine.”
I laughed. “Remind me to always have you around, bro.”
He ruffled my hair in response.
And we sat in silence. The kind of ones when you have nothing more to say because you understood each other better than everyone else does. I love my brother. I don’t know the hell why I’m bloody sentimental right now.
“Car?” he said, breaking the silence. “I’m-we’re so glad you’re alive.”
“I am, too.” I grinned. “The angels would’ve hated me for whining and demanding to go back if I died. Remember that.”
“What makes you so sure you’re ending up in heaven?”
“Huh? Aren’t there angels in hell?”
He chuckled. “Oh, before I forgot, Al saved you. You owe him your thanks.”
“Albus Potter.” He stated like it was the most obvious thing. “How many Als do you know?”
“Er, one-the same one,” I said uncertainly “And that one would neither come near me nor save my life.”
“Well, surprisingly, although I can’t see why, he did. He was freaked out, though. Guess he didn’t saw someone lose so much blood in his entire life.”
“I lost so much blood?”
How selfish of me to be focusing on my own blood when Potter came waltzing in to save me?
“I know you hate him, Car, but hate’s a strong word. You should know that.”
“What?” I said indignantly “I…I don’t…I don’t hate him! I just…dislike? Yeah, I just dislike him.”
Yeah, Carla, keep convincing yourself for that.
He looked at me skeptically.
I was about to convince him (heck, I can’t even convince myself) when the door of the ward opened, revealing my best friend in the world, Danny.
Thanks, bro from another mo.
“Wow, you’ve finally thought of coming, Dan,” I said, pretending to be upset. Gees, how could I do this to my savior of not convincing Rupert on Potter? I’m such a meanie.
“Wow, you’ve finally thought of waking up, Car,” he said back, sticking out his tongue at me.
My left eye twitched.
I shot him a look to silence him.
We we’re all standing uncomfortably in the silence.
Except Me, I was comfortably sitting with my back resting on the headboard of my bed.
Well, I’m sorry Silence, you’d have to end.
“Well? What’ve you got for me, Danny? A huge yellow bouquet of roses?” I said, eyeing the bouquet he hid on his back, which is really futile, cause he not the bulkiest person in the world.
“Uh…s-sure,” he said in an unconvincing tone.
“Ooh,” Rupert said coyly. “I’m gonna see Dominique-said she’ll visit,”
I threw a pillow at him, which he effortlessly caught. That guy still has those feelings of Danny and I being a couple. Gross.
The door closed.
“These isn’t for you,” he said the same time I said, “Those aren’t for me,”
“I hate flowers,” I said, shuddering. I have a weird allergy since I was a kid.
“I know,” Danny said, grinning. “But I brought you this,” he pulled out my camera, “so you won’t feel bored,”
“Phil?” I asked. Gosh, I miss Tak so much.
He nodded. “I’m really sorry for Tak.”
“I’m cool with it,” I lied, grabbing my camera and looking at the pictures I saved. Then, I took a picture of Danny in the middle of his talking. Heh. It was funny.
“When did you wake up?”
“Just an hour ago,” I said “In time to save the Healer from my Mum’s wrath.”
“That makes it three, then.” He said, “I’m so glad you’re awake,”
“That’s what I’ve been hearing since I woke up,” I grinned. “Who are the flowers for?”
He grinned. “Lily.”
“Lily Potter,” Danny said, rolling his eyes. “How many Lilys do you know?”
I opened my mouth to answer that I did know another Lily when he cut me off.
“It was rhetorical.” He stated. “Anyways, how are you?”
I ignored his question.
“How come nobody tells me anything, anymore?!” I said exasperatedly.
Danny sighed. I think he figured out I won’t let this go. “Well, since the last time I saw you conscious was when you’re laughing your bum out with Fred Weasley and you’ve been stuck here knocked out for three days, how would I even tell you anything?” He said wittily.
“Yeah well, I’ve got loads of time now so you’d better start this story of yours, bro from another mo, or else I’ll kick ya outta here, man,” I said coolly, realizing I don’t have anything witty to bite back.
“We just talked.” He said, covering up the wistful look in his eyes.
I laughed. “Just talked?!” I grinned. “How lame are you, Daniel?”
He shot me an annoying look. “Shut up, Curly Carly. If I was glad that you woke up a few minutes ago, I’m taking it back. You’re getting the hell annoying,”
“Yeah, well, you should’ve figured that out before you befriended me nineteen years ago,” I grinned. “And fine, I won’t bother your pathetic attempts with Lily. Yellow roses? That’s what you give to your gran when she’s sick at the hospital,” I shook my head disbelievingly.
“Quit it, Car,” Danny grinned. “She told me she love them,”
Yeah, well, should’ve seen that coming. Apparently, there’s still something bugging me.
“Danny?” I called out to him, as I lay back on my pillow.
“Did…did Albus Potter really saved me? I mean, from losing too much blood?”
He smiled. “Yeah, he did, Car. I actually don’t want to tell you. You hate him, right?”
“No, I…” this time, I could say it now and it seemed more realistic, “I don’t. Not anymore,”
He grinned. “You owe him your thanks, then.”
Yeah, maybe I do. I mean, it’s not like we’re going to be the best of friends, right? I’m just going to say thanks and that’s it.
I still dislike him. He still lost me my job.
How could I forget that?
* * *
Six Days and three hours later.
I’m still: jobless but in process of finding a cool, new, shiny job that doesn’t involve a gay banshee and my hair’s still the curly untamed one. Plus, I’ve totally become the biggest jerk alive by not saying thanks to Potter, who had surprisingly saved my life by healing me temporarily.
One word: guilty.
Yes, yes, yes, even though I *dislike* him for losing my job and what sits, I feel extremely guilty right now for not saying thank you for almost a week.
I. Don’t. Know. Why.
I mean, it’s just saying Thank You. No big deal. It’s just gonna hurt my pride or something. But I can get over that. But I just caaaan’t!
“NEXT!” the desk woman called out.
I stood up. One more try for a job today and I’m off. Probably to take a break-have coffee or something. That’s it, Carla. You can do this.
Pushing back my thoughts on saying Thank You to Potter, I walked to the office somewhat effortlessly and smiled at the red-haired woman that calls herself Editor-In-Chief.
“Good Morning, Ms. Holmes.”
Actually it’s afternoon but I’m not going to do it. I’m not going to correct her.
“Good Morning, Ma’am,” I greeted back.
“Have a seat, please,” she smiled as I did so. “So, you’re a photojournalist?”
“Uh, no, ma’am,” I said uneasily. “I’m just a photographer,”
“Exactly, they’re the same,” she said “So what do you take photos of?”
I resisted the urge to still correct her. “Um, a lot of things, actually. From perfect sceneries to famous people. I can take photos of everything except…never mind,”
Except Men in Knickers, that’s what.
“Except…? Come on, you can tell me. I have to know your potential as a photojournalist.”
“No, I have nothing to say, really.” I said hastily. “And I’m applying for photography, not photojournalism.”
“Yeah,” she pushed on, getting annoyed. “It’s the same.”
Merlin, I can’t take it anymore. I HAVE to correct her. I’m sorry.
“It’s not, Ma’am,” I said in my best humble tone. “The Verbs of their photos are different. You should’ve known that before you became Editor-In-Chief,”
“What did you just say?” she said, snapping her eyes at me.
Oh, shoot. If I hadn’t died cause Potter saved me, I’m going to die now. Feeling guilty.
“N-next? I s-sup-suppose?” I trembled. I stood up and walked, more like, ran outside before she could thunder at me and kill me in an instant.
I hastily fixed my clothes before deciding to go to the nearest coffee shop in Diagon Alley and taking a break. Maybe I should practice capturing photos more. Just to add to my application form, don’t you think?
I entered Cups and Beans, greeting the good smell of chocolate, coffee and newly baked bread. It seems delicious in here. And I heard it isn’t expensive, too. Why are there few people around?
I sat at the table, a waitress coming up to me and offering their sweetest chocolate drinks and croissants for ten sickles. I instantly agreed.
Waiting for the yummy food, I grabbed Phil from my bag and took photos around the shop. The lady with a rainbow-colored handbag and a large red hat that looks out of place here but not in the world cup-rare to see those actually, the guy who looks like he needs a good haircut and a couple-an attractive blonde guy and a sweet redhead on the far corner of the shop, looking like their discussing their future. That looked sweet. I zoomed in but not too much, to cover their identities and took a picture, realizing something deeply shocking.
It was Rose Weasley.
The shocking part? He’s with Scorpius Malfoy.
More shocking? They’re snogging each other right now and I’m like, three tables diagonally away from them.
“R-Rose?!” I blurted out, way too loudly for them to hear and they both jumped off their skins, looking wide-eyed.
It was Rose who spoke first.
“Carla?” she said as I nodded. “You’re out of the St. Mungo’s?” She stood up, giving Scorpius an “I can handle this,” look and walking over to a very shocked me.
“Yeah, six days ago,” I said, ashamed about you know, the Potter part.
“That’s really great,” she said in a cheery voice.
Then we’re followed by silence.
“Was that—?” I asked
She nodded. “I know you’re surprised but please don’t tell anybody. The press, Al-especially not him and everyone. Please, Carla. I love him. I don’t want to lose him.”
She said in a small voice.
“How long has this been going on?”
“Since we graduated,”
“That-that long? That was three years ago! How did you manage it?” I asked her, unbelievable of what I’m hearing.
I can still remember Rose punching Scorpius every year. If this was like some sort of James the first and Lily the first kind of romance, then aw. I feel kind of giddy about it.
She looked at me, skeptically.
“I promise I won’t tell anybody,” I said “I mean I wanna be on your side. This seems cool. Although, I’m not sure of Malfoy. Is he really your type of guy?”
Rose just laughed. “You sound like Al.” she said. “Speaking of Al, does he know you’re already out of St. Mungo’s? He was really freaked out, you know.”
I feel uneasiness flood my stomach, again.
“I really don’t know,” I said, ducking my head to look at my camera, instead. “Truthfully, your cousin and I aren’t exactly friends or acquaintances for the matter so I…well, um…” my voice trailed off.
Rose smiled. “Al’s a very sweet kid. Actually, he’s one of my favorite cousins. He can be protective too much on all of his female cousins and hates injustice. But he’s really a good cousin, probably the best. He also acts like a hero, that, he got from Uncle Harry and I think he doesn’t mean it-whatever he did to make you hate him. He still deserves your thanks, Carla. And you’re a nice girl, as far as I know.”
She gave me one last smile as my plate of croissants came. I munched on one as I thought harder.
Maybe I should say thanks to Potter.
Yeah. Real soon, I guess.
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