Track This Story: Feed
|Ch. #||Chapter Title||Word Count||Reviews|
England versus Ireland
I press close to Mum, unable to hide the fact that the crowd makes me feel uncomfortable. Rose is on Mum's other side in her wheelchair, holding something that might be called a conversation with Dad. Everyone's waiting, chatting aimlessly as the people trickle into the stadium.
A Raging Storm
"Hello and welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty eighth Quidditch World Cup! Autumn may have arrived but that's all part of the fun!"
The anger wins. “I hate you!” I yell, stamping my foot. It’s childish and I wish I could think of something else to do, but I can’t think of anything else. “I hate you I hate you I hate you…”
“Look!” Rose’s exclamation interrupts my thoughts. “Rainbow!”
We don’t have homework. Good thing too, ‘cause I’m not in the mood to do it. Instead I change into pyjamas, throwing my uniform into a heap at the bottom of the bed, and curl up under the covers. Maybe I should just stay here for the rest of the week. Or the month. Or however long it takes for everything to settle down.
Oh yes, Rose. If it weren’t for her and that stupid spattergroit… I don’t finish the thought, force myself to stop. It isn’t her fault, obviously. She’d give anything to be back at Hogwarts, answering those stupid riddles and making feathers float around and all that. But still…
“If you were so keen to look after them then, why not now?”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks quietly. “You’re not weird. None of us think you are.”
The front door’s barely closed behind us when small feet patter from the kitchen.
JOIN HARRY POTTER FANFICTION
Get access to every new feature the moment it comes out.Register Today!