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there she was, bright-eyed
and innocent, even after
everything they've been
through, and he knew he
couldn't live without her
in which odessa learns the
reality of who she is and
is introduced to a world
she never realised she
nee...
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THE CHOSEN ONE'S CHOSEN GIRL - BOOK 1 chapter thirteen !
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BOTH Dad and I were far too ill to return to our classes for a couple of days after the full moon. Dad couldn't even get out of bed, and, honestly, I wasn't far behind. I barely had any energy to make us drinks and eat the food Professor Dumbledore had the house-elves send us, but we made it through. Even Dad had said that, while the transformation itself wasn't that bad, the aftermath hadn't been that bad since Mum was pregnant with me. I'd never experienced anything like that before, and I seriously hoped I'd never go through that again. It was awful.
However, the weekend came and, on the day of the first Quidditch match, I only had a tiny headache, so I begged Dad to let me go down to watch it with my friends to support Harry. Still feeling rather rough himself, Dad said he wasn't going to go, but I could if I really wanted to. So, kissing Dad's cheek, I promised him I'd come back with the score, he was rooting for Gryffindor too, and set off to the Great Hall to have some breakfast. I was really excited. Not only was this the first Quidditch game of the season, but it was also going to be the first game I'd ever spectate. And Harry was playing in it! I couldn't wait to see him fly. Of course, I saw him fly the hippogriff, but I imagined that a broomstick was more graceful.
"Dessa!" Ron yelled as soon as he saw me, and I laughed, rushing over to join him and Hermione.
"How're you feeling?" Hermione asked anxiously as I sat opposite the two of them.
I shrugged, reaching for the porridge and toast. "Dad's not feeling too hot, but I'm almost back to normal, just have a headache. I'm sure he'll be back to normal on Monday."
Thanking Ron as he passed me a goblet of pumpkin juice, I started to eat my breakfast as Hermione updated me with what we had to do in our lessons, with a few tidbits from Ron that were mainly him complaining about Professor Snape. I almost collapsed with relief when she'd told me that Professor Burbage, our Muggle Studies teacher, had been nothing but kind about my absence in her lessons, especially when it had been my first week of being in her class. It had also helped that Hermione had, once again, offered to catch me up before our next lesson. Thank God for Hermione Granger. Then, as we huddled under Hermione's umbrella when we walked to the Quidditch pitch, pieces of toast still in my hand, they were telling me about how Professor Snape had decided to teach them about werewolves when he covered Dad's lesson. I furrowed my eyebrows.
"We're not supposed to be doing werewolves for weeks," I said, to which Hermione nodded. "And he's set us an essay on it? No, Dad won't accept them, so don't do it. I'll tell him about it later."
