Hide & Seek

Chapter 16 - Trepidation

Chapter 16
TREPIDATION

trepidation
(n.) tremulous fear

THREE days. There were three days until the first task of the tournament would be taking place, and Gemma still had no idea what she was up against.

Her dreams that had been steadily plagued with images of fiery snakes and skulls now conjured up images of her own death at the hands of numerous potential horrors.

The previous night she'd woken in a cold sweat, having just watched herself being torn apart by a pack of vicious werewolves, the entirety of Slytherin house laughing as they watched the blood pour from her throat.

Pristine parchment birds dripping red against a clear blue sky.

Gemma could still feel the sharp scratch of the phantom claws on her back. She rolled her shoulders in discomfort as she continued her path down the dusk-cast slopes of the vacant grounds.

Harry hadn't the faintest clue what the first task would be either, and despite Ludo Bagman's incessant hinting that he didn't mind giving Harry a few tips, the Gryffindor champions were both still flying blind.

It was a different kind of torture, the imagination.

And hers was currently playing at a variety of unpleasant ideas as to what Hagrid had planned for her and Draco's detention that evening.

The Blast-Ended Skrewts could be heard rattling about in their pen as Gemma's feet hit the stones of the path leading up to the Game-Keeper's front door.

The sluggish creatures seemed to have grown restless at her approach, thumping against the wooden structure.

Gemma's hand was caught mid-air as the door flew open from underneath it, Hagrid's silhouette towering over her.

"Shut up, ya bloody nuisances!" said Hagrid, as if they could actually understand, before turning to Gemma, "Sorry 'bout that. Get a bit noisy at night."

"Don't worry about it, Hagrid," she smiled politely, hands stuck deep in her robe pockets, the near-December air unforgiving on her extremities.

She glanced around in what she hoped was a casual way, taking in the noticeable absence of a certain someone.

"Is Malfoy here yet?"

Hagrid shook his large head, his enormous beard sweeping against his layers of worn cloaks.

"No," he said as he stepped back into the hut, bending so that he didn't hit his head, "Yeh didn't expect the bloke to be early, did ya?"

Gemma climbed the two small front steps, entering behind Hagrid. She gave a sort-of sigh, moving absentmindedly toward the fire.

"No, I suppose not. Should be used to it by now, really," said Gemma.

"Still can't believe McGonagall's makin' yeh do detention all year," said Hagrid, now digging through what appeared to be an extremely old trunk, whatever he was searching through making harsh clangs as he rifled.

"And yer a champion now! Yeh shouldn't be worryin' 'bout doin' chores! Should be figurin' out 'ow yer gonna get through them tasks!"

The clattering finally ceased as Hagrid hoisted a grimy sack from the depths of the trunk, holding it up as if it was a rabbit he'd just caught hunting as he grinned triumphantly.

He dropped it harshly onto the round wooden table, the legs creaking in protest.

"Speaking' 'o which, I know I'm not supposed to help yeh but—"