A/N: If you haven't read chapter eleven please do so now because you might be confused at the beginning at this one. If you have, then for this chapter I hope that you enjoy it, find it interesting and all that. There is some Wikipedia.org supplied info, errors are their fault. Otherwise I worked hard; my only reward would be a nice little review at the end. :D
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be.... *cries*
*****
Chapter Twelve
We would spend the last days of the holiday continuing to pretend that we were having a normal family vacation. I read Milo's comic books in the hammock overlooking the small backyard, exchanged letters with Rigel-Connor never responded to the one I'd sent-and went down to the beach with my grandparents and siblings, trying my best to enjoy the warmth and sunshine while they lasted.
I never saw Stanislav and Svetlana again so that as time passed I began to feel more and more that it had been a happy hallucination. Thankfully the media also considered one witch's claim that she'd seen them speaking to me on the beach as such too. Kimberly, without actual knowledge of the location, would have Apparated directly into my bedroom to demand the truth had they not.
My parents, meanwhile, indulged in more "alone time", which I suspected was actually spent sneaking back to wherever they had been all the while. One day after they returned home Mackenzie ran up to Dad as was usual and complained loudly that his skin was "freezing cold". My grandparents, who'd overheard, surprisingly said nothing and that immediately confirmed my suspicions.
Like my mother had promised though I would return to school the day before the term began. I did not take the Express, for this was unilaterally determined to be an unwise move, but instead arrived via Floo through the Headmistress' office, after a distressingly long trip through the International Floo Network. I would be unpacked, with Ophelia long settled into her new place in the Owlery, fed, for the Headmistress granted me permission to go down to the kitchens when I arrived, and seated on my bed deep in conversation with Kimberly by the time our roommates finally arrived with the train. And though they'd known me for two and a third years by now, I did not (nor could anyone else) miss the very visible reactions they gave to seeing me.
Jessie McDougal, another child of one of my parents' schoolmates, Morag McDougal, would make it all the way into the room and was unpacking her trunk when she looked up, saw me seated on the bed and came to an abrupt and complete stop. This made Bridget Wood in the doorway look across to her confused, but on the way to her, her eyes fell on me. She stumbled to a standstill, causing Cassiopeia Blythe, who we all called "Cass", who was coming in behind her to walk into her with a shocked "Hey!" She leaned round her to protest, followed her line of sight and exclaimed in a small voice, "Oh! Oh... Magnolia, y-you're here, back...."
Dad had warned me about them doing something like that. It was the reason I'd chosen to remain in my room after I came back, I couldn't and wouldn't stand for all the stares and whispering. My father had more or less endured reactions like this for most of the six years he'd spent at Hogwarts, and nothing had changed, but I was not one to stand for it. And now the three girls I'd thought of as my friends from our first night together now all stood staring at me looking at once apprehensive, relieved and worried. But "Grin and bare it" my Dad had said. I smiled as advised and said, "Hi girls, I'm back from France and you wouldn't believe the rumour started while I was there. Some barmy woman claims she'd seen me talking to Stanislav and Svetlana Krum. I wish. Eliminate the sister and say me and Stanislav snogging, now that's a rumour I want spread."
They didn't respond. I could actually hear the icy wind freezing and refreezing the stone walls of Gryffindor Tower. I much preferred the sound of waves crashing on the shore, but then I hadn't been able to hear that in Nice either. "Grin and bare it" my Dad had said, I think I preferred "Snap, yell and shake".
But as I was about to indulge myself in this, Kimberly, somehow sensing the danger, asked, "Is Connor Lupin back too? And Rigel Weasley? Have you seen them yet?"
It broke the spell. They all started and then continued as before, with noted discomfiture, walking into the room and beginning to unpack and Bridget replied, "I-I saw him on the train, Connor. He and Rigel Malfoy were sharing a compartment."
Kimberly and I looked across to her, stunned. "What?"
"Yes," replied Cass. "Mrs Malfoy brought Rigel to the platform but his mother and Connor's Dad were there to see them off. And right there before the train arrived they wigged on them for fighting. You should have seen it; I don't think there was a person there who didn't see it."
"People on the train came off to watch," concurred Jessie. "And when they were finished they made them sit together for the ride, Connor's Dad put them up in the compartment and everything. And they stayed there together too, the whole time; people kept walking up and down the aisle trying to see if they'd started fighting. But they didn't, they just sat staring out the window."
"Oh?" said Kimberly, sounding disappointed. Then she added with a shrug, "Well they're cousins, didn't you know? They have to get along."
I sincerely doubted that, but said nothing. She turned to me. "Well?"
"Well what?" I asked, confused.
"Aren't you going to go down and see them? I know Rigel can't wait to see you, you should have seen his face af-and Connor, Connor really has to see you. I mean, the way he reacted when the...." She stopped, shook her head, obviously trying not to speak of the letter bomb, and prodded instead, "Don't you want him to know that you're all right?"
This drew the attention of the other three. Bridget was the first to speak. "What's going on between Magnolia and Connor Lupin?"
Kimberly smiled sagely, "I believe the proper question should be, `when did they happen?'"
I gasped and protested, "There is no `they'-I mean `we', `us'-whatever! We're friends, we talk."
Kimberly scoffed, "Then what was that thing in the library Christmas Eve?" When I looked at her alarmed, she grinned, "I saw you two, that hug was anything but friendly."
The other three were intrigued. They all sat on their beds and looked at me expectantly, I glared at Kimberly. "He was comforting me; do you know how depressing it is to have someone trying to kill you, and especially when they continue to almost succeed?"
An awkward, irritating silence descended over the dormitory, I'd taken them back into that dreaded territory. I looked at each of them becoming increasingly annoyed, and eventually with a frustrated swear, I rose, went to my trunk and, not entirely sure why, dug out the Marauder's Map, which I concealed in my as yet unread Rhys-Hussey novel and stormed out. Confused and more than a little curious they all followed me out too, though keeping a reasonable distance so that I would not notice them. It did not help then, that Connor was waiting for me at the bottom of the girls' staircase, nor that as I appeared he made a strange, quickly aborted movement as if to run up to meet me.
I froze, while something did a strange pirouette in my chest before taking a free-fall into my stomach.
Burn scar-free, he looked exactly as he had Christmas morning before the letter exploded. His face was a little
flushed but his complexion clear, his grey-blue eyes sparkling under his long brown fringe constantly falling into
them, and, best of all, he was wearing the jumper I'd bought him. Coming to a complete stop was all I could do to
stop myself from running down and throwing myself into his arms. But Connor had no such restraint; he made another
aborted attempt to come up to me, then smiled, grinned and finally outright laughed and called thoughtlessly,
"Maggie! I'm so sorry I never got to write you back, but I didn't get your letter, Dad did and he
wouldn't give it up. He and Mum insisted that I needed to rest; I couldn't even read your book. I only got to
read the letters on the train and you're right, we've got to talk, I've got something very important
I've got to tell y-"
At this the others squealed delightedly, loudly, and I gasped in horror, and turned to glare at them. This just made
them laugh and Connor confused, so that when I turned back to him feeling rather embarrassed, he asked, "Who's
up there with you?"
"Kimberly, Bridget, Cass and Jessie," I replied, disgruntled. I had actually considered them my friends?
He stifled another laugh, and then became awkwardly sombre as he said, "Then maybe we should go somewhere else to talk. It's really important."
I could tell that he was serious. I nodded and walked down to meet him, ignoring the wolf whistles behind me. Before I was to the bottom of the staircase though he reached up and dragged me down to him and into a hug that vaulted the internal ballet dancer back to my chest and set every part he touched afire. The wolf whistles became catcalls, I bravely raised my arm and gestured rudely back at them, but Connor took hold of my hand, folding my fingers down and whispered, "The others have gone down to dinner, my dorm is empty, can you risk their harassment so that we can talk?"
I pulled away and looked up at him, "Why, what is it you're going to tell me?"
He bent closer to me and jerked his head at nothing, "You know, about Stan and Lana...."
"Oh right," I replied and immediately walked round him to the boys' staircase.
This was too much; Kimberly and the others started squealing and drawing attention to themselves and us. I hurried up the stairs with Connor barely a step behind me and heard many others down in the Common Room whistling too. I rolled my eyes and as we disappeared into the hall before the boys' rooms, I said to Connor, "We're never going to hear the end of this, you know?"
He shrugged. "I prefer that to some of other things I've heard on my way up here, many of which alluded to you being Rigel's girlfriend."
"I'm not," I said.
"I know," he replied with a smile that made me blush while the ballet dancer free-fell again.
The dormitory was empty as he had said, and once again he was unpacked and everything neatly arranged as I'd seen it the last time I'd been in there. Of course, whoever had come to collect his things when they'd sent us to St Mungo's may not have bothered to remove anything he'd pinned to the walls in the first place. His roommates' unopened trunks lay on their beds, and I noted again how out of place he appeared among them. He was too neat, too clean, too polite, too... everything compared to his Housemates. Uncle Lupin's influence must have been absolute, my mother was lucky I looked at her for that was as much she'd managed to get on me.
Once we stood at his bed he said, "Have a seat" and then walked round to his trunk, opened it and began digging through for something. I looked around at the two beds before tentatively taking a seat on his, depositing my book on his night table, suddenly filled with a ridiculous thrill of embarrassment and anticipation and not knowing why. It felt wrong though, very wrong, and when he straightened and began coming back over to me clutching his art kit binder and a handful of papers I stood up again and stammered, "W-what-w-when are your Housemates supposed to be coming up?"
"They usually have seconds and thirds and other things to do, they won't be back for some time. Have a seat, Maggie, please...?" he replied.
Nothing about his manner suggested that he was going to attempt anything untoward, and I sat. He then sat before me, making sure to keep a reasonable distance between us and set his things onto the bed. Then he turned to face me and said, nervously, "Er... I don't exactly know how to begin this. The first time I did this was by letter...."
I tried to appear calm and earnest, but my stomach was now engaged in a fierce butterfly invasion, my palms were already rather sweaty and I kept them firmly clenched at my sides hoping that he wouldn't think to hold my hand. I honestly wasn't sure what I was so nervous about, he was still giving no indication that we weren't going to do anything more than talk. And yet....
Then he said, "Did Stan and Lana tell you how we met?"
Not trusting my voice, I nodded. He nodded to himself and continued, "Well, yeah, when I was nine my Dad was worried that I was spending too much time drawing and reading and... basically spending too much time by myself. I mean, I had friends and sometimes Rigel, but I was always at home, always reading and drawing and following him around like a puppy. He didn't mind really, he liked that I followed him around, he said, but he wanted me to have other friends and especially around my age so he made subscribe to the Daily Prophet Pen Pal drive."
"I remember that," I spoke up, forcing my voice to be steady, hating that I was suddenly flustered by his presence. "Dad tried to get me into it but no one bought `Ingrid Granger' of Godric's Hollow, and then the first person I wrote to turned out to be a reporter for Witch Weekly."
"That's horrible," he said with conviction.
I shrugged, "Comes with the territory now. If your parents are famous, then you're famous too, and the only thing of note you've done is be born. I'm not even a Parselmouth."
He smiled, then cleared his throat and said, "Right. Well, I subscribed to it and the first person that sent me a letter was a French girl who I scared off by telling too much. I wrote that my father was a werewolf and she never wrote back. Learned my lesson, the second person who sent a letter got nothing but the bare facts: my Mum's an Auror, my Dad writes for various magazines but is mostly and a house-husband and I was nine. That person told me that their Dad played Quidditch, their mother had died when they were two, they had a twin sister and they were ten. Ten letters later he confessed that his father was Viktor Krum with photographs to prove it. Two more I confessed that my father was really Remus Lupin, war hero werewolf, and my mother was a Metamorphagus also with photographs to prove it. He wrote back anyway and we've been friends since."
I looked at him surprised, "He didn't say anything about it, anything strange at all?"
He shook his head, "He said that his father had met a Remus Lupin during the war and said that he was a good man, and since I hadn't run to the tabloids with the story about anything he told me, clearly his son was too."
I smiled, "That's really cool. And you two have been friends ever since? Have you ever met face to face?"
"Yes. Two years ago my Dad took me with him on a trip to Bulgaria. He was writing another freelance piece for one of the magazines and I'd been invited by Viktor Krum himself to visit with them at their home. I spent three days with them in a castle nearly the size of Hogwarts and after that I don't think there's ever been a doubt that we're friends. Stanislav, or Stan, as he calls himself, goes to Durmstrang and his sister goes to Beauxbatons. Wildly disparate places to send them really, but Viktor Krum wants the best and short of Hogwarts that's what he considers the best," he replied.
I sat considering this for a moment, and then asked, "And you told them about me?"
"We're friends, like Camilla and I are friends or you and Rigel, we share things, and one of those things was about having Harry Potter and his wife as godparents and infrequent visits with his three children. Since we've been speaking more lately I guess your name may have appeared one too many times for them not to notice," he said, without looking at me.
His cheeks were tinged by the faintest colour, but I could do nothing for it, I had to ask, "But they recognised me, wearing sunglasses and a hoodie and a burnt face on a beach in Nice when we have never met before?"
The colour in his cheeks deepened to magenta. "You were in one of the photographs I exchanged with them once, and I may have sent them a sketch recently and plus I've written about you so much that I... well, like I said, they couldn't help but notice."
More than a little happy about it-I was fighting a losing battle against a blush-I decided to spare him further embarrassment by asking, looking over to the things he'd brought from his trunk, "So what's all this? I don't need to read your letters to them, or the ones they've gotten from you, you're their friend, they said it first, you confirmed it...." I allowed my sentence to trail off to silence at the look he gave me then.
He was clearly puzzled, and said slowly, "You wanted an explanation right...? The comic book too, right...?"
Confused, I stared back at him in question. Then realisation dawned on his face and he remained staring at me open-mouthed and somewhat horrified. My gaze flicked down to the binder and loose papers-loose drawings actually-then I turned to the sketches on the wall, and remembered the one he'd had in the library and the wolf he'd drawn in the sketch he'd given me and at last what Stanislav had said on the beach: "Yes ve talk, and his comic book, we like the comics." I could have smacked myself in the head. How could I not have picked it up earlier?
Voice trembling slightly, face undeniably revealing my astonishment and awe, I exclaimed, "You're Romulus Kveld-Ulf!"
He was now fully crimson, but he nodded sheepishly. I gasped and at once snatched the binder, dragged it over the patched counterpane to me, flipped it open and was confronted with the proof. It was filled with sketches. Very nearly hundreds of them including drafts, one very battered first issue of the first year and pages of speech, some of which was not in his hand, stuffed into the mere ten binder sleeves. It was a wonder it closed at all, though a little magic must have taken care of that, and because of that quite possibly there was room for more. When I looked back up at him, trying to formulate, still, a protest, he presented me with a copy of the comic book that I'd never seen before.
A quick inspection revealed why. It wasn't one that anyone had seen before, or at least wouldn't until the full moon in a little over two weeks time. It was the first issue of the fourth year; the one now entitled "The White Wolf".
Still in shock I couldn't bring myself to take it from him, or even touch it, so that he was forced to reach forward, take my hands and put it into them. He didn't let go of my left hand though, but I barely noticed for I was now engrossed in staring at the glossy cover where Faolán was frolicking with a startlingly white adolescent she-wolf with bright green eyes. I'd only begun reading the comic book over the holiday but I could tell that they were probably in his pack's old village, notice at the same time the thunderstorm brewing overhead and that the white wolf also sported a curiously shaped scar on her right paw. In fact, the more I looked at it, the more I was convinced that it was shaped like a lightening bolt....
At this Connor spoke, "I didn't know... I thought they'd told you...."
I looked up at him, "We didn't speak that long...."
He averted his eyes and replied, "I created it after that day when I scared Rigel. Mrs Weasley told my parents and though Mum laughed, Dad said that I needed to find another way to expunge my pent-up energy. He said that since he was a werewolf I had to understand that not everyone was going to take too kindly to my idea of a joke. People hate werewolves, he said, but they fear their children even more. And the way he said it, there was no mistaking that he meant that they thought that their children worse monsters than their parents, considering that some didn't think they should be allowed to breed in the first place.... Plus I'm a Metamorphagus like my mother, and since Metamorphagi are rare the chances of giving birth to one, being one yourself, are so slim the figures are non-existent. People wouldn't look at my gift like that, he said, they'd see it as a sign of something being wrong with me, that I was like him."
"But you're not a werewolf," I said lamely. "And even if you were you're not... I can't see you attacking anyone like some others have."
He smiled, "I wouldn't. But they.... Rigel always taunted me when we were younger, encouraged by Grandmother and maybe the fact that he likes my father for his own, that he wishes `Cousin Remus' was his Dad. Ever since he first met him-don't look at me like that, I know what I'm saying-he's liked him, I've seen it, I know this, and so he hates me for being Remus Lupin's son instead of him. After I scared him though, he called me a freak and told Grandmother that he didn't want me to come to Malfoy Manor anymore. So for people like him who see werewolves solely as beasts, for those who don't understand that their curse isn't their fault and maybe just to prove my father wrong, and to help him, I created it.
"I already had Faolán. When I found out that the name meant `little wolf' when I'd gone looking for the meaning of my name I decided that the wolf man I used to amuse my father with was going to be called that. The others are just characters from my favourite books, family members including my parents, and friends. I didn't start out trying to create a comic book though; I was actually hoping to write a novel like my Dad sometimes says he wants to do. But I've always preferred to tell stories in drawings so it just turned into a comic book before the end of what would have been my first chapter."
I smiled at the image of Connor as a child excitedly drawing up the wolves for the comic book in his room. He would be seated at a desk by the window with the full moon out his window, his father prowling and howling out in the forest near his home while his mother watched, and every few minutes he would stop to look out for him. Uncle Lupin would be looking out for him too, proud of his son, and a warrior-like howl was permission for Connor to get back to his drawing.... He paused when he saw the smile and dreamy look on my face and asked, "Are you still with me?"
I started and nodded, and he continued, "I was going to tell the world about werewolves, that all of them weren't bad, so Faolán was to be a boy bitten by a werewolf who tries to help people instead of ripping their throats at the full moon. Then I got ill, and while he was taking care of me Dad discovered the drawings and asked me about them. I told him my plans, he thought about it for a day and then handed me a series of books about werewolves and told me stories from his childhood and here at school. By the end of the month I had a new plan. I was going to tell people how the werewolf was created, but made it known that it wasn't their fault. Of course, no one really pays attention to the fact that the wizard who turned the villagers into wolves was evil like I'd intended, but that he supposedly did it as punishment. Oversight on my part, I intend to fix that soon."
He stopped speaking then and finally released my hand to pack up the binder and loose pages, leaving the hand he'd been holding wet with sweat. I flattened the palm over my knee to dry it and looked at him, wondering if I should say something or not. But what could you say after something like that? For a moment I sat pondering all he'd just told me, and then I asked, "Romulus Kveld-Ulf... Úlfhéðnar... where'd you come up with that?"
Still packing he replied, "`Romulus Kveld-Ulf' represents two people, me and Dad. Romulus, of course, is my middle name. Unoriginal I know but I wanted my name on the cover, not something I made up, but the name my parents gave me. `Kveld-Ulf' is Old Norse for `evening wolf' which once symbolised `werewolf' and therefore represents Dad, for he helps, alot. I got it from a book I found at my grandparents' house one full moon in London, which is also how I got the title. Have you ever heard of the `berserker'?"
He was looking at me now, and I replied, "Er... vaguely, I think... weren't they considered the most savage warriors in the days of the Vikings? They use the word now generally to describe soldiers who fight like wild animals with no concern for their lives or pain."
He wrinkled his nose, "Not like `wild animals', no, but berserkers were notorious for their savage prowess in battle, brought on by narcotics, meditation or intensive training. Some say they fought naked but their name `berserker' is the Nordic word for `man in bear skin' which is what some of them wore. Others wore wolf skins and so were called `ulfhednar'. `Ulfhedinn' is the singular form, which is what Faolán is, in a more literal sense; which is what I was that night when I scared Rigel, and I think, what werewolves are. Men in wolf skins, not beasts. I thought I was pretty clever when I put them together, but to date not very many critics appear to have noticed that. I can forgive that though, because berserkers and ulfhednar were Muggles."
I stopped, considering this a moment, and then asked, "How many people know that you write the comic book?"
"My parents, Uncle Dean-who encouraged us to have them published after he saw my drawings one day when he'd gone to report something in the Ministry. Mum had my `book', which was then a bunch of loose pages tied together by bits of string on her desk, he saw it, read it and talked her into considering it. Then there's Camilla, Stan and Lana-I told them after the first one was published, on my birthday by the way, and Camilla found out last year when I foolishly decided drawing out on the grounds on a windy, but sunny day would be fun-and Rigel."
"Rigel?" I asked, surprised.
"He knew from the first day it was published. He'd seen me drawing so many times he knew that there was only one person who could have possibly created it. Not to mention that he knew about Faolán from the night. He put two and two together and decided that it was me, confronted me and I confessed. If I hadn't he'd threatened to tell everybody the truth, at the time I was smaller than him, I had no choice. Now though he wouldn't dare," he replied, and I thought I saw a mischievous, triumphant smile in his eyes.
I looked away from him back to the comic book in my hands, watching the wolves at play a while. Connor was friends with Stanislav and Svetlana Krum, they were pen pals. Connor was Romulus Kveld-Ulf, the creator of a madly popular comic book since he was nine. Rigel knew about it, Camilla too, and the Krum twins and now me. No wonder my Dad didn't believe the Ministry had the right person, if this had slipped by so many people....
The white wolf suddenly pounced onto a stick on the cover and I saw the strange mark again and asked, "This might sound crazy, and arrogant like it sounds in my head but... is this wolf... the white wolf, is that my Dad or Mum... or...."
"It's you," he replied and I sharply looked up at him, eyes wide. "Like I said, I try to put people from my real life into it. Your name, her name is `Thora'. You can keep it if you like, the copy, I usually get a few for myself, but Mum likes to buy it from the stores because, as she says, `Nothing is better than walking into a bookstore and seeing something your child created on the shelf'. Stan, Lana and Camilla also purchase theirs, but only because they don't want anyone to get suspicious."
"Then you should keep this," I said, handing it back to him. "If I get caught with it-"
"No one's going to think anything, your Dad's Harry Potter. If anyone can get something before it's been officially released, it's him," he said, refusing to take it.
"But no, I want to buy it for myself too," I said and then, unable to help myself, smiled. "I want to walk into a bookstore right chuffed because I know personally the author everyone's speculating about."
He blushed, looked away from me and then made to take the comic. His hand enclosed around my own though, almost setting it aflame with the tingling sensation that started everywhere his palm touched my skin and quickly spread up my arm. The butterfly invasion began again in my stomach and I felt the strange falling in my chest, which then turned to rising with the butterflies quick on the chase as he suddenly pulled my hand towards him, forcing me to lean forward. I knew exactly what was going to happen, but I couldn't bring myself do anything helpful other than just sit there and wait for it to. He leaned towards me as well, stopping only when our faces were barely an inch apart, and my eyes automatically fluttered closed just as his lips touched mine.
There was a moment of absolute silence where the only things I could sense was the rapid beating of my heart in my chest, the sound of the blood rushing through my veins and our intermingled breathing. Then he pressed gently but firmly against my lips and I shifted and shocked myself by pressing back, kissing him like he was kissing me.
It was not to last for long. Footsteps and loud voices in the hall, the sound of the door knob rattling and then turned, and we broke apart just as the first of Connor's roommates stepped into the dormitory. I couldn't wait around for them to see me. I flew up onto my feet, still clutching the comic book and forgetting my novel and the map on the night table, and, barely stopping to say "Later! Goodbye!" before I fled. Someone called my name, another asked, "Hey, what's she doing in here?" but I did not stop to answer questions or figure out who, and in fact did not stop running until I was back in my own dormitory and was standing before my bed, wide-eyed and hyperventilating.
I didn't care that my roommates were looking at me terrified, curious and confused. I didn't care for the million-and-one questions that sent flying my way once they'd recovered from the initial shock. And I certainly didn't care for the anxious hands that sat me on my bed, forced my head onto a shoulder or began stroking my hair and patting my back while their owners whispered words of comfort or probed for answers. I'd just kissed Connor after all.
*****
This time my insomnia had been anything but the result of fear of murder. And when the first light of the new day, the first day of the new term, began peeking through the window unto me and my sleeping roommates I opened my eyes to stare blankly up at the ceiling and wonder if Connor had slept either. Lack of sleep and the comic book none of the girls had noticed, now lying on my night table, denied me the illusion of it having been a dream. But still I couldn't believe that it had happened.
I had replayed the events in my mind until my head hurt, trying to see if there was some sign, some hint, something, anything, which could have showed me beforehand that that was going to happen. But as far as I could see there was nothing. I'd gone to his dormitory to talk to him about Stanislav and Svetlana, learned that he was also Romulus Kveld-Ulf and then he kissed me? How did that happen?
And now that it had happened, what was going to happen next? As far as everyone else was concerned my attacker had been captured and I was safe. My parents, who knew better, did not believe it but had warned me to act as if I too believed it. That did not mean that my attacker wasn't out there planning his next assault though. And I was probably going to have to restart my secret lessons with Professor Bones and Camilla too. Then there was the matter of Connor and Rigel and Connor and the OGB.
I had to talk to Rigel about their fight and his use of the word `freak'; no matter the circumstances that was completely uncalled for. But what about the OGB and Connor? How was I to begin a conversation about what I'd overheard? Or should I even attempt it in the first place?
There was no way I was approaching the OGB, but Connor.... My mind went back to night before in his dormitory when his hand folded around mine and the feel of his lips on my own and I knew that it wasn't going to happen there either. I don't think I'd be able to stand straight if I saw him to say get a word out. Goodness if I saw him anywhere today I was probably going to faint.
I gave a long, deep exhale and closed my eyes. I couldn't believe it; I'd just kissed Connor and hadn't even been to my first class yet.
Of course, my fourteenth birthday was in three days, and I'd just had my first kiss. Apart from my attacker's continued elusion of the authorities, this was possibly the makings of a good year....
As always, I was wrong.
I was roughly shaken awake to the sound of Kimberly's shrill cry, "Wake up, Maggie! You're going to be late for Ancient Runes! What did you do? When did you fall asleep last night?"
I opened eyes that stung and felt dry and glared at the garishly bright light spilling into the dormitory from the open windows. The soft morning that had greeted me earlier was replaced by a noisy, blinding and painful one that was quick to remind me that I hadn't slept and wouldn't go easy on me because I'm a girl. Kimberly, ever the willing co-conspirator, had opened all the curtains round my bed and now, fully dressed, had decided to join in the torment in revenge my refusal to respond to any of her questions from last night. I groaned and croaked, "Get lost!"
She lifted an eyebrow, "No, get up! You have class; you're a Third Year, not a Sixth!"
Groaning once more, I shoved the covers down to my waist and rolled off the bed to go to the bathroom. It took me a whole half hour to finally get dressed, which included the ten minutes it took for Kimberly to plait my hair into a single braid and for me to find a suitable hiding place for the comic book while she went to wash the styling gel from her hands. By the time we finally left the dormitory we were running late. But as we climbed out of the portrait hole, someone reached in and pulled me out into their arms. I would have screamed if they hadn't said then, their gush a mixture of joy, relief and more than a little alarm, "Magnolia!"
Expensive French cologne, the touch of soft, expensive black cloth and a flash of red hair told me that it was Rigel. I smiled into his shoulder, and breathed more than said his name, overjoyed, "Rigel!"
He held me so tightly and for so long that I was being slowly stifled for nearly five minutes before, at last, Kimberly tapped him on the shoulder and said, "I would love to stand here and watch you two bond and reconnect and whatever, but she's already missed breakfast and we're going to be late for class."
We flew apart and I swatted Rigel on the arm, "Oh no! And so are you, we could have met at break!"
"I had to see you, you didn't come down to dinner last night, of course I was worried," he replied, looking at me. "Where were you? And why haven't you had breakfast, why are you late?"
"Oh come on!" Kimberly cried in frustration. Then she grabbed my arm and began to drag me off to the stairs, "She was with Connor last night, guess. She'll see you at break to explain, we've got to go!"
I could only give Rigel a parting half-smile, which was greeted by something that strongly resembled shocked disappointment, before we got to the stairs and hurried down them off to class.
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