"Trust me, you shouldn't want anyone like me on your back."
"Maybe I don't want anyone like you on my back," His eyes darkened as he stepped closer, confining me tighter into barely any space as my back pressed against the wall.
"Maybe I want you. U...
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CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
"ARE WE IN BRITAIN?" GABRIEL CHEVROLET, his dark forehead glistening with the sweat of his labor inquired plainly, resting his elbow on the handle of the spade as it stood erect, dug half deep in the soft ground.
The Beauxbatons boy had taken up the task, along with the two Durmstrangs, Viktor Krum and Zubair Dimitrova, to dig the grave for Bridgette Monet. Since it had been his careful search that had led to the decent resting spot, the boy had resorted to directing the process, assuming himself rightfully to be the only present Beauxbatons student to contribute so.
Elias Dupont sat on a boulder beside me, his elbows resting on his knees and his head bent, eyes fixed on the forest ground in concentration—anything to avoid looking at the white shroud covered body lying on the floor as arm's length away.
I rested my own head against Elias' shoulder from time to time, directing my thoughts to Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, both young and damaged boys left back at the camp—in no better position than they had been before.
Yordanka Hristova had offered to stay back, to keep watch over them. I didn't understand it, for there was nothing to keep watch over. Harry Potter's consciousness was still with me, trapped in a rune until I employed the use of a proper way to direct it back to him. And Draco Malfoy couldn't move without any external help. None of the boys were likely to go anywhere of their own accord in their present states, let alone present a need to be under surveillance in light of Elias Dupont's protection charms.
Viktor Krum had been the first to agree, offering the Durmstrang girl a mere stern nod before hoisting Bridgette Monet's covered up body with Zubair Dimitrova, and following Gabriel's lead.
The funeral procession was to continue without Hristova, and I could only look at her with a dull intrigue, wondering why, in the short period she had spent with Bridgette and I, the almond skinned, bold Durmstrang girl couldn't be convinced to put aside her prejudice and our initial disagreements, just to pay a moment's worth of respect.
"It isn't that," Elias offered to me when I had expressed my distaste, shrugging gently as we had walked alongside.
"Look at her," He threw a glance backwards at our receding camp site, Yordanka's form was a dark figurine watching us go away.
"She has something against funeral processions, I suppose. C'est une peur refoulée. A certain trauma, from having been to too many of them I gather."
I had blinked in confusion and surprise, before my resolve morphed slightly in regret. I hadn't thought of that.
Whatever Hristova's trauma had been, Krum knew of it and had had the decency to not force her or even argue back to suggest anything else.
My eyes wandered to Zubair Dimitrova, the boy's facial expression still had not changed. He had shut himself out, choosing not to reveal anything to anyone except to his own peers. Suddenly, my chest ached with the divide.
