Jamie was in a bad mood. And he knew he was in a bad mood. But he was sick, and he hated being sick. Because being sick meant potions and possibly healers, and he hated potions and healers and all things hospital and medical related. It was ridiculous, and he knew it, because they often helped people, but he couldn't help his fears. If he could, he would go march himself down to St Mungo's and check himself in with a quick note to let everyone know he hadn't disappeared for a few days or a week or however long it'd take for him to get better--if he got better.
No. He would not think like that, even if he already had been. It was another thing he couldn't help, though. When people started dying of something he ended up possibly contracting, he couldn't help think he could be next. He'd worried about Miranda, and now that she was apparently getting better and himself getting worse, he started worrying about himself. He was allowed that right when he was pretty sure his head was going to break open from the pounding. Then again, if it broke open, it'd probably stop hurting, so it wouldn't really be all that bad if it did. He briefly wondered what the chances of that happening were and if there'd ever been a case of spontaneous head-cracking-open in history. He could think of some spontaneous combustions, but not head-cracking-opens. Maybe that was a good sign.
Jamie rolled his eyes over to the door at the sound of Miranda's greeting. He would have jokingly told her to go away and made silly warding signs with his hands if he wasn't convinced he'd get smacked and lectured about being rude or something like that. He settled for sticking his tongue out at her playfully but briefly and saying, "Hi."
(Read comments)
Post a comment in response:
scribbld is part of the horse.13 network
Design by Jimmy B.
Logo created by 
hitsuzen.
Scribbld System Status
