Clover Hawkings and the Triwizard Tournament

11. Falling Up

I hated being- whatever I was. I announced to myself as I woke up. Sick? No, my body felt much too restless. Tired? All I had to do here was sleep. What had Karkaroff done to me?

There were sounds of footsteps and I buried further under my covers. Please, not another dose of medicine that makes me woozy, or, even worse, the pitying glances Madam Pomfrey's arrival always were full of.

"It's just me."

It wasn't Madam Pomfrey; it was a tall girl with dark hair and green eyes and a shy smile. "Just you?" I said, and then dove back under the covers in horror. What had I done? What had I just said? Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh.

"Just me," Artemis confirmed, pulling the covers off. "Scooch over."

I, somewhat numbly, slowly moved to the other side of the bed. Artemis plopped down beside me and pulled the covers back up.

Her hair was down and she was wearing a tank top with a plaid button-up tied around her waist and she looked so astounding beautiful it made me feel self-conscious in my Hospital robe. Where was my hoodie to save me?

"Oh, and here's your hoodie," Artemis said, handing me the familiar, oversized hazel shape. I slipped it on- gave a sigh of relief- and looked at her with the most grace I could muster, but she was merely staring ahead, happily lost in space, perfectly comfortable with the silence.

"Thank you," I said. The shape of the sincere words felt weird in my mouth. But I meant it.

"Of course."

"Are you hungry?" I said, and then immediately mentally slapped myself. Of course, she wasn't, Artemis had just come from breakfast!

"Yes," she said longingly, "ug, I'm dying for breakfast."

"Food," Madam Pomfrey announced, setting a platter on the bedtable. She gave us a disapproving look and swept away.

"Jeez. They say that hospital food is bad but-" Here I gestured to the french toast with fresh fruit, fried eggs, and ham on the plate.

Artemis gave me a curious look. "Who says that?"

"The Muggles. And aunt Cass. Her husband had to get an appendectomy once, and she stayed with him overnight and said, quote-unquote, it was the worst thing she ever had to put in her mouth and she survived seventeen years of great-grandma Felicia's cooking." I smiled.

Artemis cocked her head. "She's a Muggle?"

"No, but she grew up around them. Even now, we live in the middle of a Muggle town," I explain.

"I see," she was silent for a moment, and took a huge bite of food. "So what's your aunt like? And what's an appende-de-" 

"Dectomy," I supplied.

So I told her about aunt Cass's adventures and appendectomy and wifi and Disney movies and wifi and pictures that don't move and wifi. Our conversation kept circling back to wifi (But how can you go to something that doesn't exist?)

"Where is Pinterest, exactly?" Artemis demanded.

"It's a web site."

"It is on a map?"

"Of a sort."

"And where is the map?"

"It's a virtual map, do you want longitude and latitude?"

"What are those?"

"Oh, good grief. I'm eating," I announced. I sat up to reach the plate when a sudden wave of nausea passed over me and I fell back down on the bed.