Vengeance| Harry Potter

eighteen. what could go wrong?

-CHAPTER EIGHTEEN-
~what could go wrong?~

IT'S AN ALMOST INEVITABLE concept that when you want something to be delayed or stay out of sight for as long as possible, it creeps up on you faster than ever. Because why should you be allowed to bask in the blissful glory of ignorance for longer than what's deemed necessary? Why should you be allowed to uphold the out of sight, out of mind attitude when that thing you are dreading looms over your head, taunting you at the most random of moments to merely remind you that you cannot escape it?

The dread acts as a stimulant enough, but with the added pull of time wrapping its ropes around you and dragging you along, the most unwanted tasks take the first opportunity to jump right at you. And the struggle only makes it worse— the ropes will merely tighten and pull harder to battle your incompliance.

During the next month leading up to the announcement of what the third task would be, Viola's ropes began to consolidate as she grappled with her fate harder than ever. She was having fun at Hogwarts for once, now that she wasnt a complete loner anymore, and Viola didn't want it to end. Why couldn't there just be two tasks? That seemed so much more fair.

True to her word, Viola hadn't done any preparation yet— how could she? That was the excuse she used whenever Hermione got on her back about it. She had no idea what was coming up and stressing about learning every single book in the library would only mar the last few weeks where Viola could just focus on being a normal student and have the most distressing thing be her homework deadlines.

But those ropes were relentless and her sheer will of just not wanting to do the third task was nowhere near enough to so much as fray them. So Viola was left completely defenceless, and too late she realised that the scuffling under their unabated grip was doing more bad than good.

It was strange to Viola how calm she felt as she left the common room with Harry at half past eight on the evening of the twenty-fourth of May. McGonagall held them back after Transfiguration earlier that day to tell them to go down to the Quidditch pitch, where they would be told the details of the third task.

Perhaps it was a calm before the storm type of thing, that peculiar perception of unruffled serenity flowing through her veins. Her heart wasn't pounding for once, and even though there was a tiny voice in the back of her head screaming, "This is the task where you mess up!" it felt more like the annoying words of a first year she passed by in the corridors. In other words, they weren't having much of an effect on her. And whether or not that was a good thing, Viola couldn't decide— on one hand, she felt like she wasn't taking the task seriously enough, but on the other, her body was finally allowing her to revel in the pretence of false security. Besides, it couldn't be anything worse than the first two tasks. What could go wrong?

Harry seemed to have different feelings on the matter, though. He was particularly quiet as the pair strolled through the castle. Harry was never exactly a loud boy, but he wasn't quite quiet, either. Viola knew he was uncomfortable with most strangers— the ones who gawked openly at his scar, most particularly. But after he began to trust someone and realise he liked them, it would open the window to more conversations.