(no subject)
Chapter Six
“I wonder where Quirrell got his turban,” Angelina said speculatively one morning a few days later.
“I thought he says a vampire gave it to him or something,” Alicia said dismissively, reaching for the croissants.
“I didn’t ask what he says,” Angelina said, rolling her eyes. “I asked where he really got it.”
Alicia was saying something in response (probably, knowing Alicia, wanting to know what reason Angelina had for not believing Quirrell and/or claiming that Angelina spent too much time with the Weasley twins), but I’d stopped listening. Wood had just walked into the Great Hall, and I was trying to catch his eye.
“He’s obviously hiding something,” Angelina was saying, as Wood spotted us and dropped into the seat next to me.
“Oliver,” Alicia said, turning to him, “Would you please tell Angelina that Quirrell is not hiding weapons of mass destruction under his turban?”
“Despite the fact that I don’t know what you’re talking about, I will say that instead of worrying about Quirrell’s stupid turban, I feel most strongly that you should be worrying about the Hawkshead Attacking Formation,” said Wood, who was tense because of the upcoming match.
“Oh, relax,” Angelina said, rolling her eyes. “As if we aren’t already pros at the Hawkshead Attacking Formation.”
“You screwed it up last time,” Wood said, spooning some scrambled eggs onto his plate.
“Only because Katie got hit by that Bludger,” Angelina rejoined. “It wasn’t our fault. It was Fred and George’s fault.”
“Don’t blame the Beaters!” said Fred, or possibly George. Both twins had appeared out of nowhere. “So what are you lovely ladies up for today?”
“Some Potions fun,” said Alicia sarcastically. “We can’t wait.”
“Right, and then we’ve got Defense Against the Dark Arts,” said Angelina, scowling. She brightened up and turned to the twins. “Don’t you two think that Quirrell’s turban is suspicious?”
“Oh, yes,” said George casually. “We’ve said so for ages, haven’t we?”
“Yep,” said Fred. “We have several theories on the subject.”
Alicia and I traded half-amused, half-exasperated glances and rose from the table by unspoken agreement.
“Alicia and I have to go to the library for some last-minute studying,” I said in excuse for our sudden exodus.
Wood unfolded from his chair with the speed and manner of a jerked marionette. “I think I’ll join you,” he said, his eyes slightly glazed. “I should really double-check Quidditch Through The Ages before tonight’s practice.”
The three of us left the Great Hall, Angelina and the twins deep in discussion behind us. They hardly seemed to notice our departure.
“Honestly, those three,” said Alicia, shaking her head in irritation. “There’s nothing wrong with Quirrell’s stupid turban!”
Wood and I nodded, and our agreement mollified her into silence. The three of us headed for the library, not because Alicia and I were really intending to do some last-minute studying, but because we had a sinking suspicion that Wood had been serious about Quidditch Through The Ages.
*
The months whipped past as if a strong wind had simply blown the pages of our calendar away. Third year at Hogwarts is considerably more work than second. I had known it wasn’t child’s play, but no one had ever said there was so much to do. Work piled on top of work, and Quidditch got sandwiched somewhere in the midst of all the work. Even Angelina and the twins grew subdued as exams grew nearer and nearer. Well, Angelina did, at any rate. Probably the twins can never be subdued.
My relationship with Wood dwindled to some degree, since he was even busier than I was. He was in his fifth year and madly preparing to take the O.W.L.s. Short on sleep and inhumanly obsessed with the tantalizing image of the Quidditch Cup, he was more often taciturn and brooding than not, and as such did not invite company. Don’t get me wrong - we still found some time to talk and walk and kiss. It was just that such occasions were few and far between, and the juxtaposition of this with our former every-minute-together spell made the former seem like not much of a relationship at all.
One day a few weeks before exams, Wood and I were sitting together at a table in the common room, studying. Well, he was studying. I had given up and closed my books, and now I was staring worriedly out the window, tugging distractedly at my bottom lip.
After a while, Wood pulled me out of my anxious contemplation with a nudge. “Pass me that quill, won’t you?”
Wordlessly, I picked it up and handed it to him. Without looking up, he said, “Something wrong?”
I paused, wondering whether to broach the subject, afraid of where it might lead. Finally I said, “One of those personality quizzes was going around in my History of Magic class the other day, and the first question was, ‘Describe yourself in five words.’”
“So?” said Wood, still not looking up. “What’s the problem?”
“So I couldn’t do it! How awful is that? I can’t even describe myself in five words!”
Wood gave me a fleeting blank look before going back to his Transfiguration notes. “So?” he said again.
“So I don’t even know who I am!” I cried, glaring ferociously at his ear. “I am a stranger to myself.”
“I can describe you in five words. See, watch,” Wood said, scribbling a note in the margin of his parchment. “Smart, sexy-”
“Oliver! This is not a joke!” I said, irked. “How am I supposed to achieve self-actualization if I don’t even know myself?”
“What the hell is self-actualization, anyway?” Wood wanted to know. He ran a hand through his hair distractedly.
“It’s very important!” I said heatedly. “And I haven’t done it!”
Wood finally looked up for more than three seconds. “So what are you saying?”
“I don’t know!” I said. I looked out the window. The grounds were almost deserted, with everyone inside studying, but a few solitary dots were down there. I found myself wishing I were one of them, rather than face what I was going to say next. “I think I need some time to be alone. In my head. Just me. To… to find out who I am.”
“But I already know who you are,” Wood said quietly.
“But I don’t!” I said. “How can you know who I am when I don’t know myself?”
Wood sighed. “Fine,” he said resignedly. “When you find out who you are, be sure to let me in on the details. I guess my interpretation of your character was a bit off-base.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I flared.
“Forget it,” he answered, going back to his notes again. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I do need to study. And I’m sure you have some self-actualizing to do.”
He said the last with such a bite in his voice that I gave him the Glower of Death for a full ten seconds before getting up and, seething, nearly catapulted myself out of the portrait hole.
I stormed throught the corridor, tramped down the stairs, shoved past the people crowding the Entrance Hall and stalked out of the castle onto the grounds. I was fuming. What nerve! What condescencion! Who did he think he was, anyway? He obviously regarded me as some sort of joke - and even worse, one that had gotten stale. That stung.
Well, good riddance then! I was better off without him anyway. Men! Who needs ’em? Not me! I didn’t need someone to stand there and patronize me. No, what I needed was to achieve self-actualization, and that was important. I knew it was important, so who cared what some arrogant jerk with a stupid Scottish accent and stupid devilishly handsome looks thought?
Not me, I told myself savagely. But deep beneath the hard shell of outrage, I knew that it wasn’t quite true.
I’d been tramping irately and randomly over the grounds as I raged. Now, gradually, my footfalls grew less and less aggressive, until at last I was walking normally. Depression crept over me, seeping into all the cracks in my internal tirade as anger melted away. Without really thinking about it, I found myself plodding toward the locker rooms. I opened the door and wandered inside, breathing in the comfortably familiar scents of broom polish and dusty Quidditch equipment.
I sighed and let myself fall back against the wall and slide down to the floor, where I sat with my knees drawn up to my chest and my hands clasped around them. Everything’s going to change now, I thought dismally. Even things I thought would alwas be the same. Like Quidditch. Especially Quidditch. I could see how awkward things were going to be between us, how tense, how strained. Not getting along with Wood was going to be a new and disturbing experience, and I wasn’t looking forward to it one bit. What if we couldn’t work together? What if we tore the team apart? It would just be the cherry on top of hell’s sundae to watch Slytherin garner the Quidditch Cup (again) as a result of our differences.
It’s his fault, I thought angrily. If he’d really had any sort of compassion for me at all, he would know that I need an identity. How can I be in a relationship when I am totally and completely un-self-actualized? He should realize that that’s futile. He should have been supportive instead of acting like I’m an idiot.
The sun was going down now, and the light streaming through the windows overhead slowed to a trickle, changing smoothly from yellow to orange, then orange to pink, and pink to blue. I sat there for a while in the descending gloom, but no further revelations came to me, and eventually I stood up to leave, still as glum as when I had entered.
The castle seemed very distant as I trekked across the grounds, and when I finally reached it I felt exhausted, as if I’d just run a mile. Suddenly, all I wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep for a hundred years until all the unpleasantry was over.
It didn’t even occur to me that Wood might still be in the common room until I was already halfway inside the portrait hole, but the room was empty. Everyone, it seemed, had either retreated to the library or given up on studying for a while to grab a late dinner.
I went up to the dormitory and, lying down on my bed, waited patiently for sleep to come. But it didn’t come, and it didn’t come, and I was still awake an hour later when the door opened again to admit Angelina and Alicia. “There you are, Katie!” Angelina cried, and I sat up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. “Why weren’t you at dinner?”
“Hi,” I said, and I was surprised at how faraway my voice sounded. I cleared my throat and tried again. “I just wasn’t very hungry. I don’t know.” I fumbled for something to do to avoid Angelina’s penetrating gaze, and settled on taking my hair out of its ponytail and shaking it out.
Alicia came over and sat down next to me on the bed. “Are you okay?” she wanted to know. “You look… well, peaked.”
“I do not look peaked,” I protested.
“Come on, Kate, it’s us,” Angelina said. “You can tell us. We tell each other everything. Remember that time Alicia got the stomach flu, and was throwing up like every half-hour-”
“Yes, do let’s bring that up as often as possible,” interjected Alicia sarcastically.
“-and we stayed up all night telling her stories to distract her?” Angelina continued. “And that time my grandmother’s boyfriend stayed at our house over the summer, and I was so scarred that I couldn’t tell you guys about it for weeks, but then finally you weaselled it out of me? Come on.”
“Oliver and I sort of broke up, that’s all,” I said in a rush, pretending to be very interested in twirling my hair around my finger.
“Oh, Katie,” Alicia said. Gently, she pulled my hair out of my fingers and started to French-braid it. Turning to Angelina, she said, “I think this calls for a Girls Night, don’t you?”
“I’ll get the ice cream,” Angelina said, dashing out the door.
Girlfriends are wonderful creatures.