Chapter 3 - Tit for tat
I feel like I'm standing in the forbidden forest with a horde of Acrumantula climbing over me. I stare at the sentence. Shall I take a look? What kind of a question is that?
I could A) write back B) hex him so hard that that his great-grandchildren will have headaches or C) let him actually check.
But suddenly he tries to tear the parchment from my hands. I hold on to it because I'm still considering my next step. A, B, or C? Which surprises are hidden behind curtain number three?
All the same, I hear a sound. A growl. Are we growling at each other? I believe James just growled at me. Where am I? In a magical menagerie? Despite everything, we fight for the parchment as if it were the last tart at the Halloween feast.
"Stop it!" I whisper.
"Give it back! I didn't mean for it to sound like that. I didn't think," James hisses back.
Perplexed, I release our booty. What was that? Am I dreaming? Did I inhale hallucinating plants in Herbology? James Horatio Potter just admitted that he did not think. And I'm still alive to hear that! I will tell my great-grandchildren of this day!
James scratches violently on the parchment and pushes it back to me. The sentence "Shall I take a look" is crossed out so that no living creature that is able to read can glimpse at it any more. Yeah, he nearly scratched through the paper!
Now I read the new line.
Do you need to go to the hospital wing? I will accompany you; I can't let you go by yourself.
What did I do to deserve this, I ask myself. Did I cross the street when the traffic light was red? Did I never eat up my lunch when I was little? Did the old woman with the many scarves and the insect eyes ill wish me like she had threatened to when I snatched the last bottle of cooking sherry away from her for my mother?
I grasp my quill, ready to murder by words.
As you will perhaps remember, we are stuck together. Thus, it would not be possible for me to go to the hospital wing by myself.
James looks at me after he has read my piece of mind. He grins sheepishly, and his hand clumsily ruffles his hair. Oooooooh, how I… hate it when he does that and when he looks at me like the way he is right now!
"Sorry, I forgot", he whispers.
"How could you forget? I would never voluntarily sit next to you!"
"But I know that you always voluntarily look at me during class." He grins and wiggles his eyebrows.
Me? Voluntarily looking at him? Ehm, well no... Nope! Never.
"That's not what we're talking about," I answer, but he still grins. "The topic is me and my butt!" As the sentence escapes my lips, I feel the heat creeping into my cheeks. I did not just say that, did I? Potter suppresses his laughter, and I come to the conclusion that I have really said what I'd hoped I hadn't. Is idiocy contagious, I ask you? I have a feeling that this virus has infected me and has already begun its destructive work.
J.H.P. holds on to his belly. He is hardly getting enough air and starts to turn red. With all of his power, he tries to hold back his laughter. Insulted, I cross my arms; the sentence was not that funny to have a laughing fit. But now he gasps for air and coughs painfully. His hands fly to his throat. He chokes. His lips start to turn blue. He is looking at me for help.
"What is it?"
His answer goes down in a cough. I notice that a few pupils are looking at us. Well, now I must probably save him. So, I clap him strongly on his back. I can't let Potter suffocate when everybody is watching. A second impact causes him to spit out a lemon drop.
McGonnie finally gives us her attention. It was about time! If one doesn't make noises while he is suffocating, he is already lost.
"Go to the hospital wing, Mr. Potter. You look awful. Miss Evans will accompany you!"
With inhuman speed I pack my things and wait impatiently for James to stuff his things in his school bag. The lack of O2 seems to have affected his motor nerves' speed. I really appreciate his near suffocation because my buttock really hurts me right now. As we are leaving the room, I get the feeling that McGonagall starts to say something, but she stops herself. I'll bet she wanted to comment on how a part of my skirt sticks to Potters trousers.
Finally outside! Liberty!
"I nearly suffocated!" he says reproachfully. "I almost died!"
Isn't he a drama queen?
"I saved you!" I defend myself and continue walking. But James doesn't move and that means I can't get anywhere.
"But reluctantly!"
"I thought you were joking." And I drag him with me.
"Is turning blue and gasping for air a joke to you?"
"When it concerns you, one never knows." I shrug my shoulders. He acts as if I were actually required to react quickly when my archenemy is close to asphyxia. In what world I'm living?
We walk in silence to the hospital wing. The pain becomes slowly intolerable! What kind of poisoned wood do they make us sit on in class? Is this the kind of wood that they use to fabricate poison arrows in Papua, New Guinea?
"Tell me, why are you dragging your leg behind?" James asks me. "You walk like the bell ringer of Notre Dame!"
Now I am being compared to Quasimodo! Can you believe it?
I glare at James and hobble on. The winged doors of the hospital ward are in view. Oh Merlin, release me from my suffering. I'll do anything; I swear anything!
"Miss Lily Evans!" a voice roars behind us. "And Mr... Ehm."
We look over our shoulder. Slughorn!
"Potter!" James answers, somewhat provoked.
He doesn't like Slughorn because he's the only teacher that can't remember his name.
"Professor." I smile.
"Miss Evans, what happened to you?" he inquires. "What kind of uncomfortable situation you are in?"
"We're stuck together," I explain simply. He doesn't have to know the other factors because the fact that James knows is enough for me to have to handle.
"I see." His walrus-like beard crinkles somewhat. He suppresses a grin. "Shall I release the both of you from your suffering?" he offers generously.
"Yes, please!" I sigh.
"At tomorrow's party you must absolutely tell me how you got yourself into this situation," he reminds me of the stupid Slug Club. Oh, I hate these meetings.
"Sure I will." I smile.
James moves away from me when Slughorn directs his wand toward the connecting piece between us. THE EVERLASTING CHEWING GUM!!!
An ice-blue flash bursts at the pink thing. I already see myself dancing wantonly and in liberty, but the charm bounces off my prison, shoots at the walls, and slams back from all of the stones until it races up to James and brushes the top his head. Thick brown hair falls to floor.
My breath gets caught in my throat. Slughorn blinks incessantly as if he wants to say, "That isn't possible!" And James makes a frightened face. His hand moves upward and feels his head. He notices the bald strip in his otherwise flowing mane. He looks like a skunk. Or better, what a punk! He just needs to color both parts of his remaining hair differently, and we can send him underground.
"Holy Agrippa!" Professor Slughorn says finally.
James is lost for words. I believe he is having the shock of his life. Even if I stood absolutely naked in front of him, he would not get distracted. He would still be overwhelmed by grief about the loss of his hair.
"James?" I touch his shoulder softly. "Is everything okay?"
"My hair!" he caws and looks to the floor and then to Slughorn.
"Well, you should better hurry up on your way to Madame Pomfrey. She will be able to help you." And he rushes off as fast his legs can carry him.
Potter however kneels to the floor, and I inevitably get dragged along. His hands are touching the pieces of hair that lie scattered on the ground. Pitifully, I put an arm around his shoulders.
"They served you well! In wind and weather. Nevertheless, they were brittle because you constantly ran your hand through them, but they were strong and shining! Let them rest in peace," I say, unable to hide a grin.
He looks insulted and gets up. My skirt rises with him, and James has the best view of my pink underwear.
Note to me: Never be spiteful. The punishment follows on the foot!
Instantly, I stand up. My personal punk keeps a straight face. The loss of his hair has obviously deeply affected him. Otherwise, a slippery comment would have come by now.
Without further word, he grabs his bag and goes, with me on his heels, to the hospital wing.
The doors are near! Only a few meters. Just a little further and we will be there! But what's that? A piece of parchment is attached to one of the wing doors. Large, fat letters shine for us to read.
I, Madame Pomfrey, strike!
For higher salary and less work time!
Even Filch earns more than I do, Albus!
For an emergency supply you must go to St. Mungos!
Regards,
Madame Pomfrey
James and I look at each other! We are doomed! I will die miserably of blood poisoning! James's hair will regrow, but what will happen to me, Lily "The-World-Will-Miss-Me" Evans?!
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