This chapter is shorter than usual which I'm sorry for but it is quite important and it needs to happen. Things will be getting more interesting again from now on. :)
Read, review and enjoy!
Love: Thanks! I'm glad you like it! :)
I'm so happy to hear that you think it's realistic. Ever since I first had the idea for this story, I've been trying hard to make it as realistic as possible. :D
Here you go! Another chapter. :)
Broken Like An Angel
Having somehow dragged myself out of bed after the events of breakfast this morning, I had gone through the day on automatic and flopped onto my bed as soon as the day's lessons ended. Exhausted by keeping up pretences all day, it didn't take long for me to fall into a fitful sleep.
Sitting squashed among the other students on the rows of benches that had been provided for the occasion, I was sure I was the only one watching the scene so intently. Others were talking and joking and laughing but I had barely even moved my gaze. Nothing had happened in half an hour or so, though it felt like hours, and although that wasn't inherently bad, I had a bad feeling about it. Something felt wrong but I had no idea what.
My concern for Harry increased further still. He was practically alone and inexperienced with drastically less practice and knowledge than his competition. Who knew what could happen. He could get injured or any number of other things that made the inevitable disorientation seem insignificant. Not insignificant enough though for me not to worry about it. Every possible situation was playing out in my head one by one, the worst ones repeating themselves unbearably. The terrible, unfixable ones that I didn't even want to consider kept resurfacing to torment me – the ones in which Harry died.
The waiting was agonising as the horrendous possibilities drowned out the cheerful chatter surrounding me. There was no movement from the sea of green in front of us all and the tension made time drag and my nerves be completely frazzled by the stress of it all.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, and maybe it was, the shrubbery parted and a familiar head of messy brown hair emerged from the seemingly endless green. Almost crying out in relief, I failed to notice immediately the blood covered hand clutching at the boy's side. When he fell to the ground steps later however, it was impossible not to. Harry's hand slipped and blood flowed through his already soaked clothes and onto the floor. Gasping in shock and fighting back tears, I stumbled down the steps towards him only to be pushed way. A crowd of people were rushing at Harry, forcing me out of the way. I had to watch from afar as Harry was carried away to, I guessed, Madam Pomfrey but some part of me knew it was too late as he was taken without a struggle or even an attempt to speak.
I called out to him but it made no difference. No one stopped. No one even turned to look. My shouts grew quieter until they were just desperate whispers intermittent with sobs. Harry was gone and somehow I was sure he wouldn't be coming back.
"Harry..." I sobbed. "Don't leave me." My throat was sore from shouting and my voice cracked as I cried. "Please don't leave me."
I woke with tears streaming down my face and soaking the pillow beneath my head. As I lay there, tears slowing as the dream became less vivid and more of a vague memory, the image of blood leaking between Harry's fingers refused to fade.
How could I survive if Harry died? I dare not even imagine returning to my life before September having experienced the happiness of the past months. Those memories memories bound to make it all the more painful and unbearable. The mere thought of Harry dying made my tears fall faster and sobs break out. That scene remained stubbornly fixed at the forefront of my mind. My chest felt tight and I was struggling to breathe, grabbing at the front of my shirt as if I could somehow tear out whatever was crushing my heart and lungs in its invisible grip.
Scrambling out of bed and untangling myself from the covers, I grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill from my desk and began to scribble furiously, not caring about the sloppy handwriting.
I can't bear to see you go to the third task without talking to you first. I want to say good luck and apologise. I'm sorry for how I've been acting and I wouldn't be surprised if you won't forgive me but I just couldn't let you go without at least trying to say I'm sorry and I still love you. You've done nothing wrong, it's my fault.
Broken Like An Angel