"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-FOUR
LAST NIGHT HAD BEEN DANGEROUS, and a honey infused reverie, all at the same time. It was startling how fleeting it seemed now to me as I stood in the forest, our campsite the size of my thumb perched on the rock plain we had ground our heels down and set ourselves up in. My eyes remained fixed on the campground, my heart dreading and hoping for movement at the same time.
The first light of the new day had peaked, a ray tearing through the pitch darkness of the sky, eliciting feelings of relief and terror in me all at once. I had gotten up, knowing that the while I had closed my eyes with my head on Viktor Krum's chest had been a very brief while. The Durmstrang was plunged into his own slumber, his body shut off from the weights and the walls it had faced in its waking hours.
Leaving Krum's side had been terrifying, as though he was a ghost I was afraid that distance would sever my connection with him. I was afraid that as soon I left, he would float away and become a figment of my imagination—and I his.
I still had to leave, despite my heart jabbing protests like knives in its own soft flesh—making itself bleed profusely just so that I would notice its agony. I did notice it, I did feel it. But somehow my mind helped me battle the pain, and I thought then with slight tears in my eyes, that my strength really did come from a deeper within and not solely from the heuristics weaved in the red of my blood.
I had left the campsite, dressing myself and offering my sanity one last look at Viktor Krum's muscular slumbering form. Everyone else was also deep in their sleep, having put themselves down promptly in the night perhaps, after Viktor and I had taken to a side. Harry Potter was also sleeping, the boy's face calm except for a faint tightness in his eyebrow. He was dreaming, and thankfully the reverie was not a wretched one.
I had had a sudden strong urge to see the dream he was having. Perhaps he dreamt of victory, or of something else entirely—a mere pointless yet exuberating human moment that would mean nothing when he would open his eyes and take in his situation and his surroundings.
Without disturbing him and pushing my urge away, I had left. Flora Fischer had been summoned then, as I stood in the cold and remotely damp forest while the sun slowly shook itself out of its isolation—not yet hearty enough to conquer the darkness entirely.
The dwarf witch had found me reserved yet direct, as she had stood in front of me, collecting instructions like heavy pebbles in the cup of her chubby thick hands. I had let her know that I was to be facing Voldemort myself, I had let her know that she was further assigned to protect the slumbering wizards in the campsite I had just left with aid of other acolytes.
My eyes had narrowed on her form, clad in a sparkly red sequin dress, the witch was startled and her manner etched in embarrassment at the sudden summon which had led her to be seen by me in her present state, while I wore my nearly dirty linen dress which had seen more than just a battle with death eaters in midst of a castle ruin.
