Magic of the Night (Harry Potter/Twilight Crossover)

Chapter Twenty:

CHAPTER TWENTY:

"-and he'd just stand there and watch as Pug-face called her Loony and me a Mudblood and-" I rant to Edward as he massages my temples. I've been bitching about Malfoy for the last hour, and he's been very patient, making all the right sounds in all the right places, being appropriately sympathetic. "And now he's in my house!" I repeat a statement I've made about twenty or so times now. "He's in my damn house!"

Because I'm genuinely horrified- Draco Malfoy is in my house! A muggle house! In a muggle town! The closest magical blood is Mei-Xing, and she's a squib who relocated to Forks to move away from her magical relatives!

Before I can keep ranting, Edward quickly cuts in. "How are you feeling?" He asks, in a not so subtle (and somewhat desperate) way of trying to change the topic. He looks like he's fighting the urge to either get Alice, Esme or Rosalie and then run, or to stroke my hair and say 'there, there'.

Edward is a god among men, but even he can get worn down by large amounts of... well, it's not quite 'girl talk', as calling it that is stereotyping, but prolonged 'bitching' sessions are more commonly associated with females then males. It took patient explaining at the start of the hour that no, I didn't want him to try and give me a solution to my problem (Malfoy), I wanted him to validate how I was feeling by telling me how absolutely right I was, and how Luna deserved so much better because Malfoy was an absolute-

"Bella?" Edward looks anxiously at me, "are you okay?" he repeats.

"I'm angry." I mutter, petulantly, and when Edward winces slightly at the apparent return to ranting I sigh and decide to take pity on him and consider his question. If I was being blunt, overall I felt like shit. Specifically my wrist was fucked, my left side was especially fucked and my head felt like it'd been triple-fucked sideways. Plus practically my entire body felt like a bruise, and all my muscles were protesting movement.

"I've got a headache." I answer Edward's query, "And achy in general, really."

"Do you need any more advil?" Edward asks, now concerned, his hands gently skimming down my arms, then sides, as if searching for the pain. "Carlisle could also prescribe you something stronger, if you need it. Where are you hurting most?"

"My whole body hurts the most," I tell him, before reacting as his hand brushed against the scar running down my left side. The spike of stabbing pain had me stiffening and clenching my jaw, hissing through my teeth as I blinked back the threatening tears. Edward looked genuinely worried now, his icy hands gently peeling up my shirt so we could both look at my side.

I wasn't sure, but I was pretty confident that the scar looked redder then before- it certainly hurt more.

"I'll get Carlisle to write a script," Edward murmurs. I tug at the corner of my shirt he's holding up.

"If you wanted me to take my top off, you could have just asked," I tease him half-heartedly, and he looks amused.

"Oh?" Deciding to take that as a challenge, I force my sore arms to cooperate, pulling my shirt off, up over my head. A moment later, I realize that with the purple and blue splotches mixed with my old faint red scars and now the long, inflamed one along my side, I'd actually look better with my shirt on. Putting it back on, though, would be embarrassing, so I went with something that still made my cheeks flush, but made me feel better about myself.

I took off my bra.

"Bella," Edward's eyes have gone dark, his pupil dilating, and he looks... hungry. Not in the 'I want to eat you' way, but in the... actually, still in the 'I want to eat you way', just a different sort of eating. "You're injured," he says, pulling his gaze away from my breasts with what looked like a great deal of effort- which was definitely a nice boost to my self-esteem.