Playing with Fire

Chapter three ~ Dinner with the Malfoys

Mrs Avery did not kill me as I arrived late for dinner, I had stumbled into the dining hall, sweat running down my forehead, my clothes ripped and without a breath left in my lungs. The three of them had already sat down to eat and I had obviously interrupted something, as Mr Avery was cut off in the middle of a sentence.

"I – am – sorry," I breathed as I had flung through the door.

Mrs Avery got up to her feet. "Oh my – what happened to your clothes, Arielle?"

I glanced down at my torn jeans and the dirt on my sweatshirt. I must look like a homeless person.

"Right – eh – I fell," I tried to explain.

"You're bleeding," she said.

"I am? Oh right, yes, but it's nothing to worry about," I said before meeting the disapproved look from Mr Avery. Arnatt kept his head down, pretending to be very interested in his meat and vegetables. "Sorry."

"Why don't you go and clean yourself up before joining us for dinner?" suggested Mr Avery.

"Yes – of course – right away." And I skidded out of the dining hall again, sprinted up the stairs and closed my bedroom door tightly behind me. There, I finally was able to breathe out. I can't believe I lost the track of time the first day at our new foster family. The look upon Mr Avery's face imprinted into my brain like a scar.

I tossed my backpack on my neatly made bed and went into the bathroom to look at the mess I had caused. Thankful for the magic, I was aware of that my clothes would heal to become as new, as for my dirty face, messed-up hair and the cut on my knee. I pulled the sweatshirt over my head and tossed it in the laundry basket before taking a good look at my own reflection. I wasn't pale though I didn't get much colour in the sun. My fingers naturally finding de ten centimetre long scar running from underneath my ribs toward my hips. I could still feel the sharp pain of the blade slicing through my skin and I shuddered out of the memory.

"Arielle?" my brother's voice came from the other side of the bathroom door.

"Vad är det?" I asked. (*What is it?)

"De frågar efter dig där nere."

"In English!" I answered as I desperately looked around for a clean shirt, but of course, Scrooge had put them all in my drawer.

"They're looking for you downstairs and sent me to get you," he said in his broken English. To be fair, he was very good at it for being eight years old and never really used it before. Perhaps because I used to make him practice, such as now.

"I'm almost done," I said before drowning my face with warm water in order to try and get the dirt and sweat off. "Could you pass me a clean shirt and pants?"

"What?"

"En ren skjorta och jeans från min byrålåda." (*A clean shirt and pants from my drawer)

"Sure."

I heard his footsteps, then the drawer opening and closing, then I opened the door and stuck my arm out. I pulled the clean t-shirt over my head, wiggled out of my dirty jeans and put on the new one and gave my reflection a quick last glance. I looked all right now, most of the dirt and blood was gone. I would have to care for the cut on my knee later.

"Well, what do you think?" I asked as I stepped out of the bathroom. Arnatt gave me a boring look. "What is it?"

"You're doing it again."