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May 18, 2014 03:45PM
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Mmmk, here's something I've been working on for a while... it's a fairly crappy story about a girl named Pea, knitting, and that's pretty much all I've worked out so far. BE HONEST- LET ME KNOW HOW IT CAN BE IMPROVED. Thanks- much appreciated :))
P.S.- I'm just going to copy and paste the first chapter here, and I'll put in a link to the rest if you're interested. And don't worry- I still love you if you're not, and you hate it. Thanks :D
SWEET PEA
The day before the life of Pea Frost went completely and utterly mad, she came to the conclusion that Knitworks was best at night on a Sunday, when nobody else was around to buy the best wool and get in her way.
Saturday mornings were something else entirely. The few times Pea had made an attempt to stock up on new wool on a Saturday mornings, she'd returned home considerably rumpled in both spirit and mind, lacking her usual four balls of shimmering fluff, and once with a black current juice stain dribbling down an elaborately knitted sweater thanks to a particularly clumsy toddler. That was another cause of irritation on a Saturday morning at Knitworks- every mother in creation, it seemed, found it necessary to bring their tiny, sticky fingered child along with them to poke and prod at everything. It was rather an unpleasant sensation to place one's hand on the counter while paying, and then find it glued to the surface by some mysterious goo, probably baby formula or dribble or milk or something disgusting like that.
No, Saturday mornings were the worst.
But Sunday nights were often the highlights of Pea's week.
It gave her a certain feeling on grown-uppishness to take her handbag, fling a scarf around her neck and call up the stairs, 'I'm going out!'
She left very quickly after that usually, to avoid the questions from Mum and Cinnamon- you know, 'How long? I need help with dinner, Pea' and, ' Off to that bliddy knitting shop again, Granny?'
Of course she was.
At sixteen, Pea had decided, you were in between: you couldn't drive a car, but you could stay out till half past ten. You couldn't drink wine at dinnertime but you were allowed a small glassful at Christmas. And you couldn't run away and go wherever you liked every day, but you were free to go to a harmless knitting shop. Although Pea liked to think of it as more than just a shop- rather a sanctuary, an escape; a kind of paradise.
Either way, she'd shut the door behind her very firmly, brushed a stray lock of curly brown hair off her forehead, hitched the bag further up her shoulder and walked very briskly down the path in her blue high heels- which were very pretty, but she refused to admit were much too small -, and made her way to the nearest bus stop, where she would toss her hair around and look at her watch, as though she had somewhere far more important to be. She thought herself quite dignified, and was totally oblivious to the people around her rolling their eyes and exchanging looks.
Dignified or not, however, the whole ordeal was worth it when she took a step through the door of Knitworks- after four flights of stairs which made her regret wearing her heels- and paused, just for a fraction of a second, to close her eyes and inhale deeply the warm, dry, comforting smell of wool and paper, and to hear the clatter of china and laughter coming from the direction of the small cafe in the back.
Knitworks was a very large shop- sanctuary, rather - with high ceilings and and tall sash windows in rows on all walls, adorned with the longest, gauziest red curtains Pea had seen in her life. The walls were painted a very tasteless pallet- one mango, one lime, one midnight blue (very nearly black) and the other raspberry, a sort of pink. In any other place it would have had quite a disgusting effect, but in KNITWORKS, it just seemed to... work . The carpet was gray- from years of filthy shoes walking across it or it having been that way to begin with, goodness only knows-, and covered in places with patchily knitted rugs, probably to cover stains that those toddlers and parents had left behind.
But even though Pea was a dramatic, clean, fashion queen and Knitworks was a style nightmare, she loved it. It had that faint, friendly smell that only childhood teddies, grandma's houses and Christmas possessed. Much as the decor annoyed her at times, Pea could never imagine it any other way. To give Knitworks a makeover would be like having lifts instead of moving staircases at Hogwarts. In a word: unnatural.
And then there was the wool.
Lord, Pea sometimes dreamed about that wool.
It was on shelves that went up to the ceiling, row after row after row, each shelf crammed with every type of every colour of wool in the known world. There was the normal stuff, then the glitter-covered fuzz, and the balls of wool that Pea could have sworn had come directly off the shimmering tail of a unicorn, so gossamery and soft and sweet it was, smelling faintly of flowers. Every time Pea came to Knitworks, she ended up buying at least one ball of the world's best wool, sometimes knitting it into scarves she never wore, beanies that had never touched the top of her head, and socks she put on her toy elephant, Humphrey. No, Pea was more than happy to snuggle down in her beanbag and doze off to the comforting click-swish of her needles, but she was completely unwilling to wear any of her creations outside of her bedroom. Cinnamon would have a field day- she could imagine it:
' Ready for the fashion show, Nanna?' 'Hey, Baa baa black sheep called. He wanted his wool back.' and, ' Look, Pea's all knitty, mum! Best give her a flea bath.' Lame jokes and too much makeup. That was pretty much her sister.
Pushing all of the unpleasant thoughts that belonged at home into the very back of her mind, Pea walked through the door and into her favourite armchair in the mini lounge area. And by mini, she meant extraordinarily cramped. But when one is only intending to curl up, put their earbuds in and knit, it was a perfect place to be. Cosy, even. And it was where Pea went nearly every single Sunday night.
Except for this one, it seemed.
Her seat was occupied by something very large, furry, and moving. Needless to say, Pea let out a shriek.
The thing jumped, quite literally- its shaggy behind nearly left the seat. It then whimpered, spun around and Pea realised that the thing in question was not a homeless person wearing an exceptionally disgusting coat, but a very dirty dog.
It was hard to tell, but Pea thought that its fur, underneath the mud coating its body, was a blackish brown, as though some particularly odd person had mixed coal and milk chocolate together rather badly then dunked the poor thing in the mix. The mud itself was wet in patches but dry in others, flaking off, onto Pea's chair in a most revolting fashion. She tried to ignore this -though it irritated her immensely- and instead took a step closer, perhaps to look for a collar or identification of some sort.
Unfortunately, the dog seemed to react to sudden movement, for as Pea took a step towards the thing it jumped (again), lept off the armchair and bounded towards her, knocking Pea off her blue high heels and onto the grey-carpeted floor, her head smacking the ground with a sickening thump that luckily nobody was around to hear. This time, the sound that came out of Pea was less of a shriek than an unholy scream. The big furry thing was directly on top of her now, licking her face with enthusiasm, and smearing dirt onto her sequiny green skirt, which she'd picked up at an op shop for two dollars and was actually quite proud of.
'GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF! GET- THE- BLOODY- THING- OFF!'
Had Pea lowered her voice for a moment, it's likely that she'd have heard the confused voices and running footsteps coming from the direction of the cafe. However, she didn't, and, as a result, received the shock of a lifetime when the dog- she kept thinking of it as the thing , like a monster -was pulled off her and the fluorescent lightbulbs of the shop were suddenly visible once again.
She gulped down air, as the dog -which had actually been slightly overweight- had begun to suffocate her. Death by dog. She gave a mental shudder. People would have giggled at her funeral. Either way, she soon regained her breath, and then tuned in to what was happening around her. She sat up.
To her left was a guy, maybe in his mid twenties, in cargo pants and an orange knitted poncho (she gave another mental shudder). To her right was a woman in her forties maybe, her hair dyed a shocking purple and swept up into a messy bun. Directly in front of her were two guys, both trying to wrestle the dog away; both wearing blue t-shirts. Pea realised they must be members of staff, and had the most absurd sudden desire to laugh. I'll bet dealing with psychotic canines wasn't in the job desription , she thought dryly.
Poncho man put his hand on her back.
'Are you OK?' he asked, sounding genuinely concerned.
'I-I'm fine,' Pea replied, doing her best to sound composed. 'That just- I don't like dogs, that's all.'
'Oh, he's a good dog,' said one of the blue-shirt men, looking up for a moment while tying the dog to a pole on one of the shelves. 'He's just- not- trained-' the dog, which had been bounding around in a most obnoxious manner, had leapt up and slobbered clean across Blue Shirt's face.
'Ugh,' Said Blue Shirt two. Pea noticed a large -and rather revolting- earring protruding from his left earlobe. 'Hate it when he does that.'
Purple hair waved her hand at the two blue shirts.
'He's assaulted a customer,' she said, her voice unexpectedly clear and sweet. 'I told you he's stupid to have in a -' she said a rude word here -'knitting shop. He'll be eating all the wool next, stupid bloody thing.' She looked Pea over anxiously. 'Are you sure you're alright? I'd hate for someone to be hurt in my shop. Plus there'd be a mountain of paperwork to do.' She gave a little laugh.
Pea, who'd not been hurt apart for her dignity having been bruised, shook her head.
'I should probably just go, you know I-'
'No, no, no, don't mind Sirius,' said Poncho. 'Look, we'll keep him tied up while you're here, you're welcome to stay, honestly. Don't go on account of him. We're happy to get you a coffee. On the house.'
Purple hair made a noise of protest, but Poncho shot her a look. She sighed.
'I'd better go home anyway,' said Pea, standing up.
'Woah, careful!' said Poncho as she swayed slightly on the spot. Apparently Sirius had caused her to knock her head when she was pinned to the ground. She sat down on the grey carpet again rather quickly. Purple glanced at Poncho.
'Grab a coffee for...' she looked at Pea expectantly. They all did. Pea sighed- this was the part that she always hated when she met new people.
'Pea,' she said quietly. Silence. Then at the same time-
'What a lovely name-' said Purple.
'Like the urine-' Blue one.
'-Or the vegetable?' Blue two.
'I've never heard that before.' Poncho.
'Yeah, well, my mum told the nurse 'Bea'- you know, short for 'Beatrice'- when I was born, but she misheard her and mum never bothered to change it. She said it grew on her. Our family's all foods and stuff- I have a sister called Cinnamon and my mum's Coriander -people call her Cori- and my dad's Bazil. But he's always limping because he gets this thing in his archilles all the time if he runs too much so he limps a lot and people call him Baz The Spaz sometimes. But mum wanted to break the tradition of foody names when I came along, so it sucks I ended up with one anyway. And I think I'm talking too much and I don't feelwellandsomethingtodrinkwouldbegoodplease.'
Pea promptly turned as green as her namesake.
P.S.- I'm just going to copy and paste the first chapter here, and I'll put in a link to the rest if you're interested. And don't worry- I still love you if you're not, and you hate it. Thanks :D
SWEET PEA
The day before the life of Pea Frost went completely and utterly mad, she came to the conclusion that Knitworks was best at night on a Sunday, when nobody else was around to buy the best wool and get in her way.
Saturday mornings were something else entirely. The few times Pea had made an attempt to stock up on new wool on a Saturday mornings, she'd returned home considerably rumpled in both spirit and mind, lacking her usual four balls of shimmering fluff, and once with a black current juice stain dribbling down an elaborately knitted sweater thanks to a particularly clumsy toddler. That was another cause of irritation on a Saturday morning at Knitworks- every mother in creation, it seemed, found it necessary to bring their tiny, sticky fingered child along with them to poke and prod at everything. It was rather an unpleasant sensation to place one's hand on the counter while paying, and then find it glued to the surface by some mysterious goo, probably baby formula or dribble or milk or something disgusting like that.
No, Saturday mornings were the worst.
But Sunday nights were often the highlights of Pea's week.
It gave her a certain feeling on grown-uppishness to take her handbag, fling a scarf around her neck and call up the stairs, 'I'm going out!'
She left very quickly after that usually, to avoid the questions from Mum and Cinnamon- you know, 'How long? I need help with dinner, Pea' and, ' Off to that bliddy knitting shop again, Granny?'
Of course she was.
At sixteen, Pea had decided, you were in between: you couldn't drive a car, but you could stay out till half past ten. You couldn't drink wine at dinnertime but you were allowed a small glassful at Christmas. And you couldn't run away and go wherever you liked every day, but you were free to go to a harmless knitting shop. Although Pea liked to think of it as more than just a shop- rather a sanctuary, an escape; a kind of paradise.
Either way, she'd shut the door behind her very firmly, brushed a stray lock of curly brown hair off her forehead, hitched the bag further up her shoulder and walked very briskly down the path in her blue high heels- which were very pretty, but she refused to admit were much too small -, and made her way to the nearest bus stop, where she would toss her hair around and look at her watch, as though she had somewhere far more important to be. She thought herself quite dignified, and was totally oblivious to the people around her rolling their eyes and exchanging looks.
Dignified or not, however, the whole ordeal was worth it when she took a step through the door of Knitworks- after four flights of stairs which made her regret wearing her heels- and paused, just for a fraction of a second, to close her eyes and inhale deeply the warm, dry, comforting smell of wool and paper, and to hear the clatter of china and laughter coming from the direction of the small cafe in the back.
Knitworks was a very large shop- sanctuary, rather - with high ceilings and and tall sash windows in rows on all walls, adorned with the longest, gauziest red curtains Pea had seen in her life. The walls were painted a very tasteless pallet- one mango, one lime, one midnight blue (very nearly black) and the other raspberry, a sort of pink. In any other place it would have had quite a disgusting effect, but in KNITWORKS, it just seemed to... work . The carpet was gray- from years of filthy shoes walking across it or it having been that way to begin with, goodness only knows-, and covered in places with patchily knitted rugs, probably to cover stains that those toddlers and parents had left behind.
But even though Pea was a dramatic, clean, fashion queen and Knitworks was a style nightmare, she loved it. It had that faint, friendly smell that only childhood teddies, grandma's houses and Christmas possessed. Much as the decor annoyed her at times, Pea could never imagine it any other way. To give Knitworks a makeover would be like having lifts instead of moving staircases at Hogwarts. In a word: unnatural.
And then there was the wool.
Lord, Pea sometimes dreamed about that wool.
It was on shelves that went up to the ceiling, row after row after row, each shelf crammed with every type of every colour of wool in the known world. There was the normal stuff, then the glitter-covered fuzz, and the balls of wool that Pea could have sworn had come directly off the shimmering tail of a unicorn, so gossamery and soft and sweet it was, smelling faintly of flowers. Every time Pea came to Knitworks, she ended up buying at least one ball of the world's best wool, sometimes knitting it into scarves she never wore, beanies that had never touched the top of her head, and socks she put on her toy elephant, Humphrey. No, Pea was more than happy to snuggle down in her beanbag and doze off to the comforting click-swish of her needles, but she was completely unwilling to wear any of her creations outside of her bedroom. Cinnamon would have a field day- she could imagine it:
' Ready for the fashion show, Nanna?' 'Hey, Baa baa black sheep called. He wanted his wool back.' and, ' Look, Pea's all knitty, mum! Best give her a flea bath.' Lame jokes and too much makeup. That was pretty much her sister.
Pushing all of the unpleasant thoughts that belonged at home into the very back of her mind, Pea walked through the door and into her favourite armchair in the mini lounge area. And by mini, she meant extraordinarily cramped. But when one is only intending to curl up, put their earbuds in and knit, it was a perfect place to be. Cosy, even. And it was where Pea went nearly every single Sunday night.
Except for this one, it seemed.
Her seat was occupied by something very large, furry, and moving. Needless to say, Pea let out a shriek.
The thing jumped, quite literally- its shaggy behind nearly left the seat. It then whimpered, spun around and Pea realised that the thing in question was not a homeless person wearing an exceptionally disgusting coat, but a very dirty dog.
It was hard to tell, but Pea thought that its fur, underneath the mud coating its body, was a blackish brown, as though some particularly odd person had mixed coal and milk chocolate together rather badly then dunked the poor thing in the mix. The mud itself was wet in patches but dry in others, flaking off, onto Pea's chair in a most revolting fashion. She tried to ignore this -though it irritated her immensely- and instead took a step closer, perhaps to look for a collar or identification of some sort.
Unfortunately, the dog seemed to react to sudden movement, for as Pea took a step towards the thing it jumped (again), lept off the armchair and bounded towards her, knocking Pea off her blue high heels and onto the grey-carpeted floor, her head smacking the ground with a sickening thump that luckily nobody was around to hear. This time, the sound that came out of Pea was less of a shriek than an unholy scream. The big furry thing was directly on top of her now, licking her face with enthusiasm, and smearing dirt onto her sequiny green skirt, which she'd picked up at an op shop for two dollars and was actually quite proud of.
'GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF! GET- THE- BLOODY- THING- OFF!'
Had Pea lowered her voice for a moment, it's likely that she'd have heard the confused voices and running footsteps coming from the direction of the cafe. However, she didn't, and, as a result, received the shock of a lifetime when the dog- she kept thinking of it as the thing , like a monster -was pulled off her and the fluorescent lightbulbs of the shop were suddenly visible once again.
She gulped down air, as the dog -which had actually been slightly overweight- had begun to suffocate her. Death by dog. She gave a mental shudder. People would have giggled at her funeral. Either way, she soon regained her breath, and then tuned in to what was happening around her. She sat up.
To her left was a guy, maybe in his mid twenties, in cargo pants and an orange knitted poncho (she gave another mental shudder). To her right was a woman in her forties maybe, her hair dyed a shocking purple and swept up into a messy bun. Directly in front of her were two guys, both trying to wrestle the dog away; both wearing blue t-shirts. Pea realised they must be members of staff, and had the most absurd sudden desire to laugh. I'll bet dealing with psychotic canines wasn't in the job desription , she thought dryly.
Poncho man put his hand on her back.
'Are you OK?' he asked, sounding genuinely concerned.
'I-I'm fine,' Pea replied, doing her best to sound composed. 'That just- I don't like dogs, that's all.'
'Oh, he's a good dog,' said one of the blue-shirt men, looking up for a moment while tying the dog to a pole on one of the shelves. 'He's just- not- trained-' the dog, which had been bounding around in a most obnoxious manner, had leapt up and slobbered clean across Blue Shirt's face.
'Ugh,' Said Blue Shirt two. Pea noticed a large -and rather revolting- earring protruding from his left earlobe. 'Hate it when he does that.'
Purple hair waved her hand at the two blue shirts.
'He's assaulted a customer,' she said, her voice unexpectedly clear and sweet. 'I told you he's stupid to have in a -' she said a rude word here -'knitting shop. He'll be eating all the wool next, stupid bloody thing.' She looked Pea over anxiously. 'Are you sure you're alright? I'd hate for someone to be hurt in my shop. Plus there'd be a mountain of paperwork to do.' She gave a little laugh.
Pea, who'd not been hurt apart for her dignity having been bruised, shook her head.
'I should probably just go, you know I-'
'No, no, no, don't mind Sirius,' said Poncho. 'Look, we'll keep him tied up while you're here, you're welcome to stay, honestly. Don't go on account of him. We're happy to get you a coffee. On the house.'
Purple hair made a noise of protest, but Poncho shot her a look. She sighed.
'I'd better go home anyway,' said Pea, standing up.
'Woah, careful!' said Poncho as she swayed slightly on the spot. Apparently Sirius had caused her to knock her head when she was pinned to the ground. She sat down on the grey carpet again rather quickly. Purple glanced at Poncho.
'Grab a coffee for...' she looked at Pea expectantly. They all did. Pea sighed- this was the part that she always hated when she met new people.
'Pea,' she said quietly. Silence. Then at the same time-
'What a lovely name-' said Purple.
'Like the urine-' Blue one.
'-Or the vegetable?' Blue two.
'I've never heard that before.' Poncho.
'Yeah, well, my mum told the nurse 'Bea'- you know, short for 'Beatrice'- when I was born, but she misheard her and mum never bothered to change it. She said it grew on her. Our family's all foods and stuff- I have a sister called Cinnamon and my mum's Coriander -people call her Cori- and my dad's Bazil. But he's always limping because he gets this thing in his archilles all the time if he runs too much so he limps a lot and people call him Baz The Spaz sometimes. But mum wanted to break the tradition of foody names when I came along, so it sucks I ended up with one anyway. And I think I'm talking too much and I don't feelwellandsomethingtodrinkwouldbegoodplease.'
Pea promptly turned as green as her namesake.
'Forget the coffee, get a bucket for the girl!' Shrieked Purple. Poncho tipped about twenty yellow balls of wool out of a nearby discount bin and quickly handed it to Pea, into which she threw up without a moment's hesitation.
'Ugh, jeez,' said Blue Shirt two, turning away. The blue shirts had by now tied up Sirius, who was curled up in a ball whining pitifully, having worked out that he'd done something wrong.
'Good Lord,' said Purple. 'I'll have to hose the hell out of that when she's done.'
*
By the time Pea had finished tipping her guts into the bin and had been handed a steaming mug of coffee by a very apologetic Poncho, Sirius was resting his head on his paws and looking at the five of them rather gloomily. She almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
Purple had gone outside to hose out the bin, so Pea, Poncho and the two blue shirts were left in an awkward silence broken only by Pea occasionally slurping her coffee, which she was suprized to find so tasty. She made a mental note to ask Purple -who seemed to be the boss around here- what it was that she put in it, before coming to the realization that the only living thing in the room that she knew the name of was the dog, and he'd tried to kill her. She cleared her throat and Poncho, both blue shirts and even Sirius jumped.
'So, I don't really know your names...' She trailed off expectantly. Poncho blinked. Then-
'Oh, right! Well, my name's Ross, and the lady with the purple hair that's hosing vomit out of a bin is my mum, Lacey. And the two weirdos over there are Ricky and Jack- Ricky's the one with the ear monstrosity.'
'Oi!' said Ricky. 'Lisa reckons it's sexy.'
'Lisa reckons chocolate milk comes from brown cows,' retorted Jack. Ross snorted. Silence fell again. And Pea, who hatedhatedhated awkward silences, just couldn't stand it.
'So... what brings you to a knitting shop?' She asked, stirring the coffee with her finger. Ross grinned.
'I could ask the same of you,' he said. 'You're what, fourteen? And you don't really look like that much of a knitter.'
Pea's dress, while covered in filth, was still recognizable as something that a knitter wouldn't wear, apparently.
'Okay, I'm sixteen,' snapped Pea. 'And what the hell's a knitter supposed to look like?'
'Damn, Ross,' chuckled Ricky. 'Don't mess with her.'
Ross appeared to have ignored him, but reddened around the ears slightly anyway.
'Well, you saw my mum,' he said. 'She didn't look- normal , did she? You saw the purple hair. Ricky and Jack are wearing stripy socks they knitted themselves and they're fans of 'Twilight', though they won't admit it-' Filthy looks from the blue shirts, who Pea saw were, in fact, wearing knitted socks- 'And I'm allergic to most fruits and wearing a poncho my grandma made me for Christmas when I was eight, which I'm embarrassed to say that I'm actually rather fond of. So basically, a knitter's kind of- weird.'
'Oh, so just because I don't wear some poncho my gran made or knit myself socks or read the crappiest books ever written-' more filthy looks- 'Or have dyed hair, I'm not a knitter? I'm not weird enough?'
'I just- no- you-' Ross sighed and ran his fingers through his hair as Ricky and Jack whooped and clapped in the corner.
'That's not the point. I just- never mind. Look, how long have you been coming here?'
Pea, glad to have stopped the argument from escalating and ruining a twenty-minute long demented friendship, was more than happy to change the subject.
'Not long. Like, since January.'
'A ten-monther. Not bad.'
'And I guess you've been here your whole life?'
'Well, yeah. When I was little I used to help mum stock the shelves and stuff. I only actually learned to knit when I was twelve.'
Pea, who'd learned how at the age of sixteen and still knew little more than the basic knit stitch squirmed, but decided to keep this tidbit of information to herself. She had no desire whatsoever for Ross to pass her up in any way.
It was at this point that Ross's mum, Lacey, made a reappearance, holding the dripping bin and looking decidedly damp herself.
'What happened, Lace?' Asked Jack. Pea could see he was holding back a smile.
'You bloody well know, Jack,' growled Lacey through gritted teeth, brushing a soggy strand of purple hair out of her face.
'What did I do?' He asked innocently. She threw the bin at him and stalked away to the cafe.
'YOU BETTER HAVE WORKED OUT THE PLUMBING BY TOMORROW, MATIE, OR YOU'RE GONE!' She bellowed over her shoulder. Jack and Ricky looked at each other.
Then burst out laughing. Pea couldn't help but join in; Lacey had borne a startling resemblance to a drowned rat.
'I CAN HEAR YOU LOT!' Shrieked Lacey from the back. Everyone laughed harder.
By the time Pea had wiped the tears out of her eyes and the laughter had died to a couple of giggles and the occasional hiccup, Ross said-
'That was really mean, Jack.' Not to say that he stopped smiling, though.
'What did he do?' Asked Pea.
'Cut the hose,' replied Jack proudly. 'Thing's getting replaced tomorrow, so I thought, why not. She was supposed to get sprayed later on, when she went out to water the carrots, but you chucking saved us a lot of time. Nice one.'
Pea's stomach jolted as she realised exactly what time it was.
'Jeez, nine thirty!' She cried, jumping out of the chair, narrowly avoiding spilling the remaining cold dregs of coffee over Ross.
'That's the time you're supposed to be home by?' Said Rick incredulously as Pea snatched up her bag and forced on her heels.
'Not my decision,' replied Pea. 'Okay, well, thanks for the coffee and...'
'Letting our psychotic dog attack you and give you a possible concussion? Our pleasure,' said Ross. Pea gave him a smile, then stood there awkwardly.
'Okay... I'll see you next week, I guess. Um... thanks again, guys. Tell Lacey I said thanks, too,' she said.
'No! Don't go! Well, at least take some wool with you. Free of charge. You know, to make up for the probable brain damage.'
'Oh- nah, you don't have to, I-'
Ross threw a ball of something glittery and gossamery and blue in Pea's direction. She caught it, turned it over in her hands in wonder, and caught her breath. She knew it wasn't something that girls her age usually got excited about, but this wool was beyond perfect. It practically glowed . And Lord, it was so soft. Like a kitten and cotton buds and velvet had been smushed together to make a glorious ball of fluffiness.
'Wow,' said Pea.
'Mum got a whole shipment of the stuff from Peru last month. Isn't it brilliant? I'm making a scarf out of it at the moment.'
'Thanks,' she breathed. 'It's lovely.'
'No problem,' Ross replied.
Sirius suddenly lifted his leg and created a dark yellow stain on the woven rug he'd been sitting on.
'Oh, for the love of-' shouted Ricky. Pea took her leave.
And so, Pea Frost left Knitworks not with the seven or so balls of wool she'd been expecting, but instead a single, divine ball of sheer awesomeness and four sort-of friends.
And while this sounded cheesy, like one might read in a book or perhaps online on a book website, the overall outcome of this Sunday night was even better than she had dared to hope.
Pea Frost whistled the whole way home, still oh-so blissfully unaware of the hell that was soon to break loose.
...And the rest is here. Comment here or on the actual page if you want- I don't care, I just really want some feedback to make this better. Thanks! xx
https://www.goodreads.com/story/show/...
'Ugh, jeez,' said Blue Shirt two, turning away. The blue shirts had by now tied up Sirius, who was curled up in a ball whining pitifully, having worked out that he'd done something wrong.
'Good Lord,' said Purple. 'I'll have to hose the hell out of that when she's done.'
*
By the time Pea had finished tipping her guts into the bin and had been handed a steaming mug of coffee by a very apologetic Poncho, Sirius was resting his head on his paws and looking at the five of them rather gloomily. She almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
Purple had gone outside to hose out the bin, so Pea, Poncho and the two blue shirts were left in an awkward silence broken only by Pea occasionally slurping her coffee, which she was suprized to find so tasty. She made a mental note to ask Purple -who seemed to be the boss around here- what it was that she put in it, before coming to the realization that the only living thing in the room that she knew the name of was the dog, and he'd tried to kill her. She cleared her throat and Poncho, both blue shirts and even Sirius jumped.
'So, I don't really know your names...' She trailed off expectantly. Poncho blinked. Then-
'Oh, right! Well, my name's Ross, and the lady with the purple hair that's hosing vomit out of a bin is my mum, Lacey. And the two weirdos over there are Ricky and Jack- Ricky's the one with the ear monstrosity.'
'Oi!' said Ricky. 'Lisa reckons it's sexy.'
'Lisa reckons chocolate milk comes from brown cows,' retorted Jack. Ross snorted. Silence fell again. And Pea, who hatedhatedhated awkward silences, just couldn't stand it.
'So... what brings you to a knitting shop?' She asked, stirring the coffee with her finger. Ross grinned.
'I could ask the same of you,' he said. 'You're what, fourteen? And you don't really look like that much of a knitter.'
Pea's dress, while covered in filth, was still recognizable as something that a knitter wouldn't wear, apparently.
'Okay, I'm sixteen,' snapped Pea. 'And what the hell's a knitter supposed to look like?'
'Damn, Ross,' chuckled Ricky. 'Don't mess with her.'
Ross appeared to have ignored him, but reddened around the ears slightly anyway.
'Well, you saw my mum,' he said. 'She didn't look- normal , did she? You saw the purple hair. Ricky and Jack are wearing stripy socks they knitted themselves and they're fans of 'Twilight', though they won't admit it-' Filthy looks from the blue shirts, who Pea saw were, in fact, wearing knitted socks- 'And I'm allergic to most fruits and wearing a poncho my grandma made me for Christmas when I was eight, which I'm embarrassed to say that I'm actually rather fond of. So basically, a knitter's kind of- weird.'
'Oh, so just because I don't wear some poncho my gran made or knit myself socks or read the crappiest books ever written-' more filthy looks- 'Or have dyed hair, I'm not a knitter? I'm not weird enough?'
'I just- no- you-' Ross sighed and ran his fingers through his hair as Ricky and Jack whooped and clapped in the corner.
'That's not the point. I just- never mind. Look, how long have you been coming here?'
Pea, glad to have stopped the argument from escalating and ruining a twenty-minute long demented friendship, was more than happy to change the subject.
'Not long. Like, since January.'
'A ten-monther. Not bad.'
'And I guess you've been here your whole life?'
'Well, yeah. When I was little I used to help mum stock the shelves and stuff. I only actually learned to knit when I was twelve.'
Pea, who'd learned how at the age of sixteen and still knew little more than the basic knit stitch squirmed, but decided to keep this tidbit of information to herself. She had no desire whatsoever for Ross to pass her up in any way.
It was at this point that Ross's mum, Lacey, made a reappearance, holding the dripping bin and looking decidedly damp herself.
'What happened, Lace?' Asked Jack. Pea could see he was holding back a smile.
'You bloody well know, Jack,' growled Lacey through gritted teeth, brushing a soggy strand of purple hair out of her face.
'What did I do?' He asked innocently. She threw the bin at him and stalked away to the cafe.
'YOU BETTER HAVE WORKED OUT THE PLUMBING BY TOMORROW, MATIE, OR YOU'RE GONE!' She bellowed over her shoulder. Jack and Ricky looked at each other.
Then burst out laughing. Pea couldn't help but join in; Lacey had borne a startling resemblance to a drowned rat.
'I CAN HEAR YOU LOT!' Shrieked Lacey from the back. Everyone laughed harder.
By the time Pea had wiped the tears out of her eyes and the laughter had died to a couple of giggles and the occasional hiccup, Ross said-
'That was really mean, Jack.' Not to say that he stopped smiling, though.
'What did he do?' Asked Pea.
'Cut the hose,' replied Jack proudly. 'Thing's getting replaced tomorrow, so I thought, why not. She was supposed to get sprayed later on, when she went out to water the carrots, but you chucking saved us a lot of time. Nice one.'
Pea's stomach jolted as she realised exactly what time it was.
'Jeez, nine thirty!' She cried, jumping out of the chair, narrowly avoiding spilling the remaining cold dregs of coffee over Ross.
'That's the time you're supposed to be home by?' Said Rick incredulously as Pea snatched up her bag and forced on her heels.
'Not my decision,' replied Pea. 'Okay, well, thanks for the coffee and...'
'Letting our psychotic dog attack you and give you a possible concussion? Our pleasure,' said Ross. Pea gave him a smile, then stood there awkwardly.
'Okay... I'll see you next week, I guess. Um... thanks again, guys. Tell Lacey I said thanks, too,' she said.
'No! Don't go! Well, at least take some wool with you. Free of charge. You know, to make up for the probable brain damage.'
'Oh- nah, you don't have to, I-'
Ross threw a ball of something glittery and gossamery and blue in Pea's direction. She caught it, turned it over in her hands in wonder, and caught her breath. She knew it wasn't something that girls her age usually got excited about, but this wool was beyond perfect. It practically glowed . And Lord, it was so soft. Like a kitten and cotton buds and velvet had been smushed together to make a glorious ball of fluffiness.
'Wow,' said Pea.
'Mum got a whole shipment of the stuff from Peru last month. Isn't it brilliant? I'm making a scarf out of it at the moment.'
'Thanks,' she breathed. 'It's lovely.'
'No problem,' Ross replied.
Sirius suddenly lifted his leg and created a dark yellow stain on the woven rug he'd been sitting on.
'Oh, for the love of-' shouted Ricky. Pea took her leave.
And so, Pea Frost left Knitworks not with the seven or so balls of wool she'd been expecting, but instead a single, divine ball of sheer awesomeness and four sort-of friends.
And while this sounded cheesy, like one might read in a book or perhaps online on a book website, the overall outcome of this Sunday night was even better than she had dared to hope.
Pea Frost whistled the whole way home, still oh-so blissfully unaware of the hell that was soon to break loose.
...And the rest is here. Comment here or on the actual page if you want- I don't care, I just really want some feedback to make this better. Thanks! xx
https://www.goodreads.com/story/show/...
Okay, hai everyone! Here's a Harry Potter fanfiction I've been working on- let me know how to improve it, or whether or not I should keep going. Thanks! xxx
This is set in that bit where Harry was heading to the forest to confront Voldemort, and sees Ginny with someone. In the book, he doesn't talk to her. In this, he does.
Ginny looked up, as though she had sensed something.
The girl she was bent over groaned and started sobbing harder, and Ginny quickly swallowed and looked down again, brushing the hair off the girl's sweating forehead.
'Shh, shh. It's okay.'
A gulp.
'It's okay. You'll be okay.'
Harry knew he should go. He knew there was only one thing to be done; one thing that could fix this mess, and that was giving himself up.
But he couldn't step away. He could hear his heart throbbing in his chest; a rhythmic sort of pounding. He could feel the invisibility cloak, smooth and cool on his skin. He could feel the glasses on the bridge of his nose. He could feel the rough wood of the wand in his right hand which had been with him through hell and saved his life more than once.
And he could see. He could see Ginny, her hair burning gold in the flickering light of the few torches left on the walls, bent over the pale girl crumpled on the ground, tears now running down her face, one after the other. It was a face smeared with ash and blood, but Harry had never in his life seen one quite so beautiful.
And suddenly, he couldn't stand it anymore.
The invisibility cloak slid off him silently, easily, and slid to the cobblestone ground in a shimmering pile of gossamer. Strange how something which had kept him hidden and safe and saved his and his friend's lives so many times could look so small, so pitiful, in that little puddle of silver, he thought.
And then Ginny looked up.
She didn't jump. She didn't gasp. Ginny Weasley just looked at him, her beautiful eyes bright with tears. Harry tried to ignore the way her face lit up at the sight of him, tried not to think about how what he was about to do would crush her.
'Who iz zare?' the girl on the ground said weakly, her voice ripping through the silence. 'Who iz zare? Don't 'urt me, please, I...' She gave a sob.
'Shh, Gab. It's- it's Harry. It's okay.'
Harry and Ginny looked at each other for a long time, shining brown eyes gazing into bright green, and time stretched. The rest of the torn, bloody remains of Hogowarts fell away into nothing, and all there was in the world were two children, made adults by warl hope and sadness and love thick in the air around them.
Her hand, Harry noticed, was holding the girl's. She gave it a squeeze.
'Kingsley said it'd wear off,' she explained, talking too quickly, nodding towards the girl. 'She got hit by some spell while he and some Death Eater were dueling. He just told me to stay here with her, wait for help, you know... but he said he thought it would wear off.'
Harry cleared his throat. 'Who- who is that?'
'Gabrielle Delacour. You know, the girl you saved unnecessarily in the Triwizard Tournament. Fleur's sister.'
A long silence.
'You didn't die, then,' said Ginny at last, jokingly, but choking a little. 'Not yet, at least.'
And this was so close to the truth, perhaps dead on, that there was a sharp intake of breath from Harry.
'No,' said Ginny. 'You can't be serious.'
'I-' It suddenly occurred to Harry that it would have been so much easier to just walk past Ginny; to just walk away and leave her with any memories of him she had left. She didn't need to see him one more time. It would only hurt more later this way, he knew.
'You can see what's happened because of me, Ginny. It's my only option.'
And suddenly Ginny didn't look so fragile and soft. Her eyes had taken on that hard, blazing look again. That look that he loved; that look that he would miss more than anything.
'It's not,' she said fiercely. 'For Merlin's sake, Harry, it's not.'
'People are dying,' Harry said hollowly. 'People have died because of me. Because I'm a coward. If I go out and face him now, maybe I can save some of the others.'
Ginny glared at him in a way that would have made Harry laugh any other time. But right now he was too busy trying to memorize her face- the long, straight nose; the fiery hair, the freckles sprinkled like stars over her perfect face.
He knew that it was the last thing he ever wanted to see. Maybe, in his last seconds, he could dredge up the face of the girl he loved most in the world and, as everything faded to black, her eyes would be with him all the way.
'If you-' she choked again. 'If you- die, you won't save anyone, you idiot. Don't you get it? You're the reason we're all here and fighting. If you die, we all will. You're the one who's fighting him. You are saving us, right now.'
'I'm not, though!' Harry said, frustrated now. He showed Ginny his hands, spread them out towards her. She recoiled, and he immediately felt a stab of guilt. He pulled them away.
'This isn't my blood,' Harry said shakily. 'I don't know whose it is. But once, they were a person. Now they're dead.' He spat out the last word. 'If I had gone to Voldemort earlier, then whoever this was wouldn't have died. Lupin wouldn't have died. Or Tonks. Or Colin. Or Fred.'
Ginny flinched at the last name. Again, Harry wanted to slap himself.
'Harry, please,' she said, her voice breaking. 'If you leave, then we haven't got anything to fight for. And I- I won't have anything to live for.'
The tears were a constant stream, now; two rivers running down Ginny's face. Harry's heart broke. He silently took a step and sat down next to her, his back against the stone wall. And then there was a silence, thick and heavy, punctuated only by distant bangs and yells.
'Ginny,' Harry said quietly, 'Do you remember back when you were dating Dean Thomas?'
This caught her so off guard that she gave a short burst of laughter. 'What?'
'You know, when the two of you were... going out?'
'I guess. I mean, I liked him, but he was a bit of a prat.' She gave a watery chuckle and dragged a sleeve over her eyes. 'Plus you and Ron hated him.'
'Hey!' Said Harry, laughing. 'We didn't hate him.' Then, when Ginny raised her eyebrows at him, 'Well, maybe Ron did. But he's your brother, Ginny. He's supposed to hate any guy that goes around snogging you.'
'Like his best friend does.'
'Good point.'
Another silence. The Gabrielle groaned. Ginny stroked her hair and whispered something.
'I was actually really jealous of him, though,' Harry said suddenly.
'No! Really?' Ginny laughed.
'You know, I might've... maybe... caused you two to break up.'
'WHAT?!'
Gabrielle stirred and gave a giggle so faint Harry thought he might have imagined it.
'I was going out of the portrait hole to go see Slughorn, and I accidently pushed you when you and Dean were walking through. You kind of... blamed him and... yeah.'
Ginny put her head on his shoulder. Harry realized he quite liked the heavy warmth of it there. Her hair, he noticed, smelled like strawberries and summer. And he loved it.
'You know you're a twit, right, Harry?' She said affectionately.
'All too well,' he replied, a smile tugging at his lips.
Another silence.
'You know, if I don't see you again...' Harry began.
Ginny slapped him. 'Don't say that.'
Harry looked at her, one hand on his throbbing cheek, mouth hanging open. The sharp sound of the slap echoed weirdly around.
'I am so in love with you,' he said.
'Oh, shut up,' she said, smirking, and closed the distance between them.
Their kiss was sad, the saddest they'd had since the day of Dumbledore's funeral. But it was happy, too: full of memories and love and hope for a better future. Ginny's lips, Harry thought, had never tasted so melancholy.
BANG!
All three of them jumped, even Gabrielle, who started crying again immediately afterwards. Harry and Ginny broke apart, and Ginny looked down at her feet, shy for the first time in years.
'What was zat? I don't... I don't...' Gabrielle cried, her voice wavery and soft.
Ginny brushed her hand over eyes again, and Harry resisted the sudden urge to kiss her frown away.
'I don't think Kingsley's coming back, and I don't think Gabrielle's getting any better. We'll have to bring her back to the castle, see if anyone can help her there.'
Wordlessly, Harry stood up and gently picked up the girl's feet. She was remarkably light. Harry was horrified to see dark red blood dripping from the girl's head, however, matting her silvery blonde hair together.
Ginny's hair had fallen over her face: a flaming curtain. 'She was supposed to stay home, you know,' she said, 'but she begged Bill to take her with him, and... you know the rest.'
There was a lump in Harry's throat. How could Ginny ever say that this wasn't his fault? Maybe if he'd given himself up to Voldemort earlier, left the remaining horcruxes to Ron and Hermione and the others, they all might've stood a chance. But it was too late. He had caused all their dooms because of his own cowardly ways. They were being picked off, one by one. People were dead, dying, grieving. And he could have stopped it all.
There were shouts in the distance and the occasional blast from a wand. Somewhere in the direction of Hagrid's hut Harry could see orange and yellow flickering, slicing through the darkness. He wondered briefly where Hagrid was, and then pushed the thought away.
He had enough to feel awful about.
There were spots of blood on the cobblestone walls and flickering torches which made them shine scarlet, but all that could be heard was the fighting so far away, the ghostly echoes of Harry and Ginny's shoes on the ground, and Gabrielle's occasional weak cough.
As they came closer to the main hall, however, there was more to see, and the laughter Harry and Ginny had shared only minutes ago suddenly seemed years ago.
Bodies.
Bodies lying on the grass and the dirt and the gravel, flung aside and broken and bloody and crumpled, some moving and groaning and crying and begging for death, others so utterly still that surely they had been claimed by just that. Madame Pomfrey and a few others weaved through the injured and dead and did all they could to help, lifting some away on stretchers, giving others healing potions and mending bones with their wands.
For some, there was nothing they could do.
Harry felt bile rise in his throat. He tried to look up, or at the looming castle; anywhere other than the ground where people he had shared dormitories with, taught at DA meetings, and versed in Quidditch games, but it was impossible.
He caught a glimpse of Katie Bell leaning against a wall, arm against her stomach, doubled over in pain. Parvati Patil with tentacles growing from her chest. Cormac McLaggen lying horribly still on the ground, arms outstretched and eyes glazed over, seeing nothing. Harry heard a sharp intake of breath from Ginny, and looked where she was staring.
It was Dean Thomas, slumped against a tree with blood blossoming over his robes. Harry, despite it all, felt a quick stab of jealousy, and then felt sick with himself. They stood and watched for a brief second, and Harry tried to ignore the stares that were being aimed his way as they waited for Dean to move, to prove that he wasn't just another victim of Harry's selfishness.
He didn't.
Harry's mind was made up.
They walked towards the castle.
...And the rest is here if you want to read it. Thanks! XD https://www.goodreads.com/story/show/...
This is set in that bit where Harry was heading to the forest to confront Voldemort, and sees Ginny with someone. In the book, he doesn't talk to her. In this, he does.
Ginny looked up, as though she had sensed something.
The girl she was bent over groaned and started sobbing harder, and Ginny quickly swallowed and looked down again, brushing the hair off the girl's sweating forehead.
'Shh, shh. It's okay.'
A gulp.
'It's okay. You'll be okay.'
Harry knew he should go. He knew there was only one thing to be done; one thing that could fix this mess, and that was giving himself up.
But he couldn't step away. He could hear his heart throbbing in his chest; a rhythmic sort of pounding. He could feel the invisibility cloak, smooth and cool on his skin. He could feel the glasses on the bridge of his nose. He could feel the rough wood of the wand in his right hand which had been with him through hell and saved his life more than once.
And he could see. He could see Ginny, her hair burning gold in the flickering light of the few torches left on the walls, bent over the pale girl crumpled on the ground, tears now running down her face, one after the other. It was a face smeared with ash and blood, but Harry had never in his life seen one quite so beautiful.
And suddenly, he couldn't stand it anymore.
The invisibility cloak slid off him silently, easily, and slid to the cobblestone ground in a shimmering pile of gossamer. Strange how something which had kept him hidden and safe and saved his and his friend's lives so many times could look so small, so pitiful, in that little puddle of silver, he thought.
And then Ginny looked up.
She didn't jump. She didn't gasp. Ginny Weasley just looked at him, her beautiful eyes bright with tears. Harry tried to ignore the way her face lit up at the sight of him, tried not to think about how what he was about to do would crush her.
'Who iz zare?' the girl on the ground said weakly, her voice ripping through the silence. 'Who iz zare? Don't 'urt me, please, I...' She gave a sob.
'Shh, Gab. It's- it's Harry. It's okay.'
Harry and Ginny looked at each other for a long time, shining brown eyes gazing into bright green, and time stretched. The rest of the torn, bloody remains of Hogowarts fell away into nothing, and all there was in the world were two children, made adults by warl hope and sadness and love thick in the air around them.
Her hand, Harry noticed, was holding the girl's. She gave it a squeeze.
'Kingsley said it'd wear off,' she explained, talking too quickly, nodding towards the girl. 'She got hit by some spell while he and some Death Eater were dueling. He just told me to stay here with her, wait for help, you know... but he said he thought it would wear off.'
Harry cleared his throat. 'Who- who is that?'
'Gabrielle Delacour. You know, the girl you saved unnecessarily in the Triwizard Tournament. Fleur's sister.'
A long silence.
'You didn't die, then,' said Ginny at last, jokingly, but choking a little. 'Not yet, at least.'
And this was so close to the truth, perhaps dead on, that there was a sharp intake of breath from Harry.
'No,' said Ginny. 'You can't be serious.'
'I-' It suddenly occurred to Harry that it would have been so much easier to just walk past Ginny; to just walk away and leave her with any memories of him she had left. She didn't need to see him one more time. It would only hurt more later this way, he knew.
'You can see what's happened because of me, Ginny. It's my only option.'
And suddenly Ginny didn't look so fragile and soft. Her eyes had taken on that hard, blazing look again. That look that he loved; that look that he would miss more than anything.
'It's not,' she said fiercely. 'For Merlin's sake, Harry, it's not.'
'People are dying,' Harry said hollowly. 'People have died because of me. Because I'm a coward. If I go out and face him now, maybe I can save some of the others.'
Ginny glared at him in a way that would have made Harry laugh any other time. But right now he was too busy trying to memorize her face- the long, straight nose; the fiery hair, the freckles sprinkled like stars over her perfect face.
He knew that it was the last thing he ever wanted to see. Maybe, in his last seconds, he could dredge up the face of the girl he loved most in the world and, as everything faded to black, her eyes would be with him all the way.
'If you-' she choked again. 'If you- die, you won't save anyone, you idiot. Don't you get it? You're the reason we're all here and fighting. If you die, we all will. You're the one who's fighting him. You are saving us, right now.'
'I'm not, though!' Harry said, frustrated now. He showed Ginny his hands, spread them out towards her. She recoiled, and he immediately felt a stab of guilt. He pulled them away.
'This isn't my blood,' Harry said shakily. 'I don't know whose it is. But once, they were a person. Now they're dead.' He spat out the last word. 'If I had gone to Voldemort earlier, then whoever this was wouldn't have died. Lupin wouldn't have died. Or Tonks. Or Colin. Or Fred.'
Ginny flinched at the last name. Again, Harry wanted to slap himself.
'Harry, please,' she said, her voice breaking. 'If you leave, then we haven't got anything to fight for. And I- I won't have anything to live for.'
The tears were a constant stream, now; two rivers running down Ginny's face. Harry's heart broke. He silently took a step and sat down next to her, his back against the stone wall. And then there was a silence, thick and heavy, punctuated only by distant bangs and yells.
'Ginny,' Harry said quietly, 'Do you remember back when you were dating Dean Thomas?'
This caught her so off guard that she gave a short burst of laughter. 'What?'
'You know, when the two of you were... going out?'
'I guess. I mean, I liked him, but he was a bit of a prat.' She gave a watery chuckle and dragged a sleeve over her eyes. 'Plus you and Ron hated him.'
'Hey!' Said Harry, laughing. 'We didn't hate him.' Then, when Ginny raised her eyebrows at him, 'Well, maybe Ron did. But he's your brother, Ginny. He's supposed to hate any guy that goes around snogging you.'
'Like his best friend does.'
'Good point.'
Another silence. The Gabrielle groaned. Ginny stroked her hair and whispered something.
'I was actually really jealous of him, though,' Harry said suddenly.
'No! Really?' Ginny laughed.
'You know, I might've... maybe... caused you two to break up.'
'WHAT?!'
Gabrielle stirred and gave a giggle so faint Harry thought he might have imagined it.
'I was going out of the portrait hole to go see Slughorn, and I accidently pushed you when you and Dean were walking through. You kind of... blamed him and... yeah.'
Ginny put her head on his shoulder. Harry realized he quite liked the heavy warmth of it there. Her hair, he noticed, smelled like strawberries and summer. And he loved it.
'You know you're a twit, right, Harry?' She said affectionately.
'All too well,' he replied, a smile tugging at his lips.
Another silence.
'You know, if I don't see you again...' Harry began.
Ginny slapped him. 'Don't say that.'
Harry looked at her, one hand on his throbbing cheek, mouth hanging open. The sharp sound of the slap echoed weirdly around.
'I am so in love with you,' he said.
'Oh, shut up,' she said, smirking, and closed the distance between them.
Their kiss was sad, the saddest they'd had since the day of Dumbledore's funeral. But it was happy, too: full of memories and love and hope for a better future. Ginny's lips, Harry thought, had never tasted so melancholy.
BANG!
All three of them jumped, even Gabrielle, who started crying again immediately afterwards. Harry and Ginny broke apart, and Ginny looked down at her feet, shy for the first time in years.
'What was zat? I don't... I don't...' Gabrielle cried, her voice wavery and soft.
Ginny brushed her hand over eyes again, and Harry resisted the sudden urge to kiss her frown away.
'I don't think Kingsley's coming back, and I don't think Gabrielle's getting any better. We'll have to bring her back to the castle, see if anyone can help her there.'
Wordlessly, Harry stood up and gently picked up the girl's feet. She was remarkably light. Harry was horrified to see dark red blood dripping from the girl's head, however, matting her silvery blonde hair together.
Ginny's hair had fallen over her face: a flaming curtain. 'She was supposed to stay home, you know,' she said, 'but she begged Bill to take her with him, and... you know the rest.'
There was a lump in Harry's throat. How could Ginny ever say that this wasn't his fault? Maybe if he'd given himself up to Voldemort earlier, left the remaining horcruxes to Ron and Hermione and the others, they all might've stood a chance. But it was too late. He had caused all their dooms because of his own cowardly ways. They were being picked off, one by one. People were dead, dying, grieving. And he could have stopped it all.
There were shouts in the distance and the occasional blast from a wand. Somewhere in the direction of Hagrid's hut Harry could see orange and yellow flickering, slicing through the darkness. He wondered briefly where Hagrid was, and then pushed the thought away.
He had enough to feel awful about.
There were spots of blood on the cobblestone walls and flickering torches which made them shine scarlet, but all that could be heard was the fighting so far away, the ghostly echoes of Harry and Ginny's shoes on the ground, and Gabrielle's occasional weak cough.
As they came closer to the main hall, however, there was more to see, and the laughter Harry and Ginny had shared only minutes ago suddenly seemed years ago.
Bodies.
Bodies lying on the grass and the dirt and the gravel, flung aside and broken and bloody and crumpled, some moving and groaning and crying and begging for death, others so utterly still that surely they had been claimed by just that. Madame Pomfrey and a few others weaved through the injured and dead and did all they could to help, lifting some away on stretchers, giving others healing potions and mending bones with their wands.
For some, there was nothing they could do.
Harry felt bile rise in his throat. He tried to look up, or at the looming castle; anywhere other than the ground where people he had shared dormitories with, taught at DA meetings, and versed in Quidditch games, but it was impossible.
He caught a glimpse of Katie Bell leaning against a wall, arm against her stomach, doubled over in pain. Parvati Patil with tentacles growing from her chest. Cormac McLaggen lying horribly still on the ground, arms outstretched and eyes glazed over, seeing nothing. Harry heard a sharp intake of breath from Ginny, and looked where she was staring.
It was Dean Thomas, slumped against a tree with blood blossoming over his robes. Harry, despite it all, felt a quick stab of jealousy, and then felt sick with himself. They stood and watched for a brief second, and Harry tried to ignore the stares that were being aimed his way as they waited for Dean to move, to prove that he wasn't just another victim of Harry's selfishness.
He didn't.
Harry's mind was made up.
They walked towards the castle.
...And the rest is here if you want to read it. Thanks! XD https://www.goodreads.com/story/show/...
