Please refer to the end of this chapter for an important note.
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A gentle breeze brought her consciousness back into her body. Clara floated in a space between sleep and being awake, but she was aware of the sensations created by the environment around her. The smooth silk sheets slipping through her fingers, the sound of the curtains ruffling in the wind, the sound of water dripping from her bathtub some feet away. Any moment now, Bailiwick would knock on her door and remind her of the time.
She waited for it, but it never came. Slowly, she opened her eyes to the soft glow of mid-afternoon. For a moment, confusion sharpened her senses; there were no silk sheets, no bathtub. Bailiwick was never late.
And then she remembered. This was not the Campbell manor. She was in the Potters' guest home, just outside of London. Her friends were probably somewhere downstairs, laughing and creating mischievous. Her brother was downstairs somewhere as well.
That home was bad for you, she thought painfully. It doesn't deserve to be missed.
With some effort, she raised herself into a sitting position, bones aching with exhaustion, and rubbed her eyes sleepily. Judging from the light outside, it was just past lunchtime; she'd been sleeping for only a couple of hours.
Clara rolled out of bed, and began smoothing down her appearance; she threaded her now-dry hair into a thick braid that travelled down to her mid back, and brushed the wrinkled out of her pants while rubbing sleep out of her eyes.
The silence of her bedroom was interrupted by series of sharp raps against the door.
"Come in,"
The door creaked on its hinges as it opened. Aaron rested his hand on the doorknob hesitantly, looking as crumpled and tired as always.
Clara scowled. "What?"
"Don't 'what' me," He said tersely.
Clara crossed her arms, stubbornly. "What do you want?"
Aaron pushed himself into the room. "I want to know why you're acting like this." He snapped.
Clara feigned confusion. "What do you mean?"
Aaron visibly bristled. "Like... I don't know! You act as if you hate me one moment, and then you refuse to let me go home! Make up your mind."
Heat bit her insides, seeping into her words. "There are things bigger than you happening, Aaron." She retorted. The words burst from her chest unexpectedly, and as soon as they left, her frustration only grew. Who was this person who spoke without thinking?
A lost look passed over Aaron's face. "And what does that mean?"
Clara groaned. "Nothing! It's nothing. Now get out! Out, out, out!" She waved him out of the room, rapidly shutting the door in his face to block his protests.
As soon as his footsteps travelled away from the room, Clara pressed her back into the door, and took a deep breath.
Sooner or later, she thought, this is all going to come out.
~*~
By the time she got downstairs, she noticed two new additions to the occupants of the house, a man and a woman. Their backs were towards Clara, so she couldn't see their faces, but she could tell they were much older than everyone else. They were seated on the larger sofa, and James was perched on the armchair closest to the woman, while the others were sprawled throughout the area. James' face abnormally red.
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The Quiet Kind Of Beauty -Marauder Era
Teen FictionClara Campbell is about to finish her seventh and final year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy along with her friends, the infamous Marauders and Lily Evans. But as the last month of school approaches, problem after problem starts piling...