The Wild Side

8. A new form of torture

Shoelaces are the most aggravating and uniquely annoying invention in the history of mankind. That’s including abnormalities like trigonometry, cheese with holes in it and Harlequin Black. It’s just that shoelaces seem to always, no matter what obstacles, find their slimy way under my poor, now highly suspicious, feet. Which, unfortunately yet predictably, has embarrassing consequences. Embarrassing consequences which usually end with my face accidently making intimate acquaintances with the floor. Fortunately, I have managed to save the floor-acquaintance-ing by my impressive reflexes, no thanks to my irritating shoelaces. It didn’t help that I was late. For class. Which was potions.

Ya-ay.

If it wasn’t enough that I made my ‘le grande’ entrance to potions on the second day of school, now I was running late for the O.W.L debriefing that Snape was giving us ever so fortunate fifth year students. It’s not like I could focus my attention on something as trivial as class times. There was imperative and critical issues going on in my slightly messed up friendship group. Such as Cyanide, the current prank war with Anthony Goldstein and Audrey’s increasing visions. Just because a certain greasy, oily haired professor doesn’t possess anything remotely close to a life, and doesn’t understand that a teenage life isn’t filled with potions, especially not when you suck at it…which I don’t…

Back to me running through the halls. They were empty, as per usual at this time. Not even the stray Slytherin ‘bad ass’ who thought that smoking cigarettes would benefit their brain cells more than actual learning. Not even Harlequin Black, who was…Harlequin Black.

I took the shortcut that should hopefully lead me to the corridor outside the path to the dungeons. It was dingy and creepy but it would minimise the time it will take to get to class. After all, I am a Gryffindor; I will face the darkest corridors, sail the harshest seas and…holy shit?! Did something just move?!

Okay, run, run, run and run. As fast as my feet can take me. It’s easy, just one foot in front of the other in a more rapid pace than walking. Walls? Pfft, no problem. They’re easy. Just keep running away from the Boggart or Ghost or whatever the hell moved.

O Oh. Going down.

My foot didn’t only land on floor. Only floor would be great, fantastic, perfect. But, nooo. Life was working too against me to be that pure. It was floor, yeah sure, but it was also shoelace. Unholy, ridiculous, infuriating shoelaces. And now, my face was kissing floor. Because of stupid, bloody shoelaces and things that move in the shadows of fear and little children’s nightmare’s.

I hate shoelaces. I hate, hate, hate them. The only thing I can thank them for is the fact that I am now aware that this particular floor tastes like off milk and scrambled egg. Knowledge I really could live without. Oh, God. I think my taste buds are broken. Is that even possible? I hope it is, because mine aren’t working. Everything tastes like cotton wool. How can I ever enjoy gateau piment again? I can simply not live anymore.  Being late to Potions suddenly doesn’t seem that bad. At least I would be able to enjoy food.

I took a deep breath. I am calm, I told myself. Peaceful even. Tranquil, would be a bit of a stretch. God, I can’t even lie to myself.

 I stood up on legs that should not be stood on, and tried to calmly finish making the painful process to get to class. Gradually, I could taste normally again, a relief that came in a bucket. Although, by that time, I was already fifteen minutes late for potions and surely in the running to get a detention. 

The dungeon door loomed in front of me, a mass of steel and bolts. Sealed inside was a conglomerate of teenagers concocting all sorts of horrific potions. I could already picture Snape in front of the class, swooping around in his cloak like a bat. I took a deep breath and knocked on the door. It opened with a groan, allowing a pale, long nosed face to poke through.