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 Posted: Wed Apr 06, 2011 7:56 pm
♭♮♯ Sleeping wonder lies to me, and the lies are sweet. If any of you know the site Quizilla, it's a writing site, essentially. I take one-shot requests there for Harry Potter stories.
1: Perhaps He's Not so Bad [severus snape]
2: That Accent [severus snape]
3: No Kidding [draco malfoy]
4: One of Many, One of a Kind [ron weasley]
5: The Lesson of the Story [draco malfoy]
6: Yeah, I Know [oliver wood]
7: That's What It's For [george weasley] ♩♪♫♬
Music is sung with simple words, and simple words can save the world. ♯♮♭
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Posted: Wed Apr 06, 2011 8:03 pm
“I look like a professor,” she grumbled to herself, walking into the closest loo and glaring at her image in the mirror. She could practically see the sly grin on Pettigrew’s face as he walked past, receiving the signal, whatever it had been, from Sirius. She sighed and shook her head as she inspected the coloring. “Idiots,” she muttered to herself, waving her wand and watching as her previous rainbow glory was restored. “That’s better.”
Fluffing the back of her hair, the Ravenclaw stepped back, eyeing her reflection. That’s the last time I stand for this sort of thing, she told herself for what had to be the fifth or sixth time that month. With a sigh, she left the loo, heading back into the Great Hall. Sirius stuck his tongue out at her as she approached the tables, but she ignored him angrily, instead heading towards the Slytherin table where his younger brother sat. It had become her habit to switch between the two brothers depending on who she was mad at.
“Hey Althalos,” Regulus Black greeted as the Ravenclaw girl plopped down on the bench beside him. There was a murmur of greetings from the other Slytherins who tolerated the pure-blood girl. “I saw the hair earlier—how did you dye it back so quickly?” he asked, barely looking up from his food.
“Simple reversal spell. You learn them once you have to deal with idiots like them,” she muttered angrily, crossing her arms and leaning her elbows on the table. There was no real answer to this. After all, she was only tolerated, not really wanted there. Great, just when my night couldn’t get worse, she thought as a certain red head and her best friend came through the Hall’s doors. As an honorary member of Regulus’ group, Athalos knew that lately, Severus Snape had been growing away from Lily Evans.
What was it about that girl that irritated the Asian rebel? Was it her goody-goody attitude? The way she so obviously liked James Potter but constantly fought with him? Or the fact that she was constantly with Severus Snape? It was probably that she was always with Severus—and calling him Sev. Althalos almost glowered, until she saw Lily scowl and walk angrily towards her own table. She threw a look over her shoulder at Severus before plopping down between Remus and James. “Somebody’s pissy,” she muttered once Severus had come to join the Slytherin table.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, raising a single eyebrow as he eyed the Ravenclaw. She shrugged in response, but wasn’t pressed further. After all, it wasn’t too unusual for her to switch tables these days.
- - - - - - - - -
“I don’t need your help, mudblood!” Severus Snape yelled at the red-headed Gryffindor who had rushed to his rescue. Suddenly, Althalos Lex was interested in the fight developing between the Slytherin boy and his Gryffindor rivals. She closed her book slowly as Evans screamed at the Marauders before storming off, chased by Potter. Althalos smirked and stood before Severus brushed past her.
“Hey!” she shouted, turning around and following him. “Wait up!” He glared over his shoulder at her.
“What do you want?” he said bitterly, and the Asian girl stopped, frowning.
“I just wanted to see if you’re alright,” she said, irritated. What was wrong with that? Why was he overreacting? The boy’s black eyes narrowed and he shook his head angrily, adjusting his bag on his shoulder before turning away from Althalos and heading back up to the castle. “Severus?” she said quietly, though she knew he couldn’t hear her. Was there anything wrong with her wanting to help him?
It was hard for her, having to stay on the Slytherins’ good sides while she was also close to the Marauders. She wouldn’t have put up with it, if it weren’t for Severus Snape. Just as the fiery red head that Severus had showed up with was Althalos’ secret rival, she couldn’t deny that the talented potion maker was hard to resist. Althalos was under the firm belief that he deserved to be in Ravenclaw, where people of his equal intelligence would accept him.
Stop thinking like that, Althalos, she scolded herself, crossing her arms and frowning to herself. It wasn’t like her to get distracted especially when she should be studying for her next O.W.L. Again, the Ravenclaw shook her head and turned away, giving a very mature stink eye to Sirius where he stood, buckled over from laughing. He shrugged, knowing she’d been angry with him lately. The Asian girl didn’t release her glare even as she trudged up to the castle. Secretly, she was vowing to herself that she was done with them; it was time to choose the side of the one who needed her more: Severus Snape.
- - - - - - - - -
“Snivellus! Snivellus!” people chanted in the hallway the last day of school at Hogwarts. James Potter and Sirius Black had decided that to reward themselves for having finished their exams in one piece, they, along with their partners in crime Peter Pettigrew and Remus Lupin, would hang the school scapegoat from the top staircase and laugh as they changed the directions constantly so Severus could never get a footing. Unsteady, the lanky Slytherin desperately tried to unhook himself from the banister he hung from.
“What’s going on?” someone whispered into a shy Hufflepuff’s ear. The girl didn’t even look over her shoulder as she explained what had happened. Enraged beyond belief, Althalos Lex narrowed her eyes and disappeared into crowd again, even with her auspicious rainbow hair.
The determined Ravenclaw slyly lifted the corner of a nearby tapestry, slipping underneath before anyone noticed her. “Accio broomstick,” she muttered to herself, and after a few moments of waiting, a swishing noise preceded her Comet broomstick into her hand. A smirk threatened to twitch its way onto her face as she ascended a secret staircase located along the main running of all the magical moving staircases. We’ll see how this plays down.
Emerging at the top of the secret staircase, the Asian girl lifted her hood and inched forward along the edge of the banister. Someone shouted out from below, pointing her out to Potter, who was distracted by the torment he was incurring on Severus. Suddenly, everyone was pointing at her, shouting out, “Who is that?” As she’d suspected, the first act done by the torturers was to lift Severus from the banister and hang him in the air by his ankle.
The black-haired Slytherin seemed to have given up, and was only concentrating on keeping his wand from falling out of his pocket. Althalos would not be stopped. She mounted her broomstick and pushed off from the ground, as if in slow motion, before zooming past Severus. There was a moment of understanding where hazel eyes met black ones. Althalos countered the spell cast by James, and just before gravity took its toll on the potions maker, he flipped himself upright and grabbed hold of the petite girl’s waist, swinging his leg over the wood and allowing her to fly them right out of the castle via a previously opened window.
“What, no thank you?” the girl said sarcastically as they floated above their school. She heard Severus grunt quietly, and his arms wound themselves around her stomach as he hugged her to his chest.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, and Althalos smiled to herself, not even humble enough to blush. “Don’t ever do that again,” he chastised, though the Ravenclaw picked up on the smile in his voice.
“Oh come on, you know you loved it,” she teased, straining to see him from the corner of her eye; all she could make out was the glaring black hair against her own brightly colored locks. Well, black does go with everything, she thought slyly to herself. “Not to mention, they’re probably thinking to themselves that you’ve got just about the coolest person in the world on a broomstick with you,” she said with a nonchalant tone and a shrug. She could feel Severus’s chest against her back as he laughed. The chuckled sounded somewhat dark, as if he’d been around the Slytherins too long, but she smiled nonetheless.
“You really should have been in Slytherin, Althalos,” she heard him say, and the girl frowned.
“How so?”
“You’re far too cunning to be a Ravenclaw. I’ll bet you orchestrated this whole thing,” he said slyly, and Althalos shrugged nonchalantly again.
“Perhaps I knew of their plans and did nothing to stop them at the time… Or perhaps I was just upset by their childish behavior and decided to make a point that would embarrass them more than you.” As the broomstick floated over the first trees of the Forbidden Forest, it began to descend. The two came across a lake not too far from the entrance of the forest, and they touched down, Althalos hopping off before Severus.
When she turned to face him, she was met with a smirk-faced black haired boy who could very easily compete with James Potter if he tried. “So what happened to Black?” he asked, his smirk beginning to turn into a sneer on the edges. Again, Althalos shrugged in response, and felt a sense of accomplishment when she saw annoyance flash through Severus’s black eyes. “Really,” he said, crossing his arms. “Thought you two were somewhat of a thing…” Althalos stuck her tongue out oh-so-maturely, being met with another dark chuckle.
“I could say the same about you and Evans,” she said, which succeeded in shutting the cocky Slytherin up. He shook his head slightly and held his hand out over the broom on the ground, holding it out towards Althalos once it was in his hand.
“Thanks for the ride,” he said gruffly as he pushed the broom in Althalos’ hand. She frowned and grabbed his arm as he turned. “What?” he asked in an accusatory tone. He didn’t have much time to stay as such, considering his lips were now occupied with the task of being connected to Althalos’ own. In surprise, he froze, and the Asian girl pulled back, settling down from her tip-toes.
“You’re welcome,” she said with a grin, tilting her head.
“Perhaps Potter’s not so bad after all,” Severus said, much to Althalos’ surprise.
“What makes you s-!” The Ravenclaw was cut off as abruptly as Severus had been, and as she wrapped her arms around his neck, she thought, Oh; that’s why.
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Posted: Wed Apr 06, 2011 8:16 pm
“But it was an embarrassing one,” the sixteen-year-old muttered. She knew that Trisha had a soft spot for the Marauders, since they were in her house, but it greatly displeased Tiffany that she was a victim of their pranks. Sure, they went easy on her since she was Trisha’s sister, but they just loved teasing her. Sirius Black had once informed her that it was because “That American accent is just about the cutest thing when you’re mad.” Tiffany’s sister finished brushing the flour off her black robes.
“There, you’re all better. Now, I’ve got Defense Against the Dark Arts in about five minutes, so I’ll get going,” she said cheerfully, picking up her back and heading off to her class. Tiffany sighed and tugged on her black locks, fingering the red ones as well. For a shy and quiet girl, people were shocked to find she loved the stark contract between the two colors. It was time for Tiffany’s free period, and though she’d usually hide out in the library, she didn’t feel that she wanted to leave the loo she stood in.
Nobody will remember this—they never do, she reminded herself timidly, leaning closer towards the mirror and inspecting her face. The pale reflection’s big blue eyes met her own, and she sighed unhappily. Leaning back again, she yanked her bag over her shoulder, wincing from the weight of the heavy books that were crammed into the canvass bag. Finally, she found enough courage to push open the door… And walk straight into somebody.
“Oof!” she said quietly, as the girl fell to the floor. She looked up to say she was sorry and started to blush, her voice silenced. Even though at five foot five, Tiffany was average height, the lanky form of the one and only Severus Snape towered over her. The clouded expression on the Slytherin’s face bored into her, but he relaxed a bit—nobody could possibly see Tiffany Davis as a threat. “S-sorry,” she said, scrambling to get her things, seeing as her bag had completely exploded.
“It’s alright,” the boy said quietly, and just as Tiffany ducked her head over her books, she heard him kneel down to help her. “Here,” he said, and she jerked her head up to see him. Their foreheads collided, and both of them went backwards. Sitting on her butt, Tiffany rubbed her head and shook her hair over her eyes to cover her blush.
“Sorry,” she said again, and she heard him stand.
“Like I said, it’s alright,” he said. Once his footsteps had disappeared, she glanced up, her blush darkening. Her books were all put neatly into her bag, ready to go. Biting her lip, she pushed herself onto her feet and reached for the strap.
“Here you go!” said an enthusiastic voice as an all-too-familiar Gryffindor handed the bag to her.
“H-hi Sirius,” she said quietly, her eyes darting down the hallway that led to the library.
“Around here, we say hello without the ‘h’,” he teased, looking in the same direction as she did. “Waiting for somebody? Got a secret date?” he asked, bumping his shoulder against hers. She flinched away from the contact automatically, but he didn’t notice.
“N-no, Sirius,” she said in the same tone as before, inching her way back so that she was a step back without the sudden movement. He shrugged and started down the other hall.
“Seeya around Tif-Tif; keep the accent going,” he said with a wink. Tiffany sighed from relief and hurried towards the library, taking her usual table by the window that looked over the lake. Frowning, she noticed as the Marauders headed towards their usual tree, sans Sirius. Shaking her head, she leaned down towards her bag to pull out a book and a roll of parchment.
Tiffany heard rustling, and the Ravenclaw girl glanced up, noticing somebody slip between the shelves of the Restricted Section just before she caught sight of them. Frowning, she shook her head and opened her book to the chapter on the history of African shamans. Time for the essay, she thought, an undertone of cheerfulness shading her monotonous thoughts. It was true she found refuge in her work. Their Professor for History of Magic had to be the most boring one there, but she didn’t mind. She’d done enough reading on her own to be able to elaborate on their essay topics—she always got extra credit.
It wasn’t long before Tiffany could hear the younger students being released for the afternoon. A handful of nervous-looking first years came into the library, begging the librarian to help them with their potions homework. Slughorn isn’t that frightening, the girl thought to herself, shaking her head, somewhat amused. But, with the onslaught of people, and her essay being done, she collected her things. It was time for her to be gone. She was starting out the door when a rushed second year slammed into her. It was almost in slow motion that Tiffany watched the girl’s potion fly up in the air. The stopper stayed secure, but as the vial came down and Tiffany reached for it, it slipped from her fingers, cracking loudly on her head.
The cool liquid slid down the Ravenclaw’s hair, as the blushing second-year apologized over and over again, calling herself clumsy and stupid. “It-it’s alright,” Tiffany assured the young Hufflepuff, reaching up and dipping her finger into the potion to inspect it. It’s nothing dangerous—just an antidote, she thought to herself, wiping the finger on her robes and ignoring the intense heat on her cheeks. There were some giggles behind her, though the librarian shushed the room loudly. “I’ll just…Wash off,” Tiffany said quietly, in a squeaky voice. The second-year nodded her head and took a step back. As Tiffany began to walk, her bag slid off her shoulder, and she turned to collect it again.
There stood Severus Snape, her bag slung over his shoulder along with his own. “Well, go on,” he said gruffly, raising an eyebrow at her. “Aren’t you going to wash your hair?” Instantly, Tiffany blushed like a cherry.
“Y-yes—“
“Well, I’ll get someone from your house to take this up for you.” If it was possible, Tiffany’s face grew redder. “What?” Severus questioned, raising his eyebrow at her. Tiffany just shook her head and muttered hurried thanks, rushing down the hallway to the close-by loo.
That was nice of him, she thought to herself as she filled a sink with water and took off her cloak. Frowning, she flattened the collar of her shirt, loosened her tie, and leaned forward carefully, dunking her hair into the water. A droplet trickled down the nape of her neck, and she shivered as it ran down her spine. Frowning, she lifted her head, peering through the curtain of sopping wet hair into the mirror. Behind her stood one of those Slytherin girls that she’d seen Severus Snape hanging around. Trisha calls them Death Eaters, Tiffany thought, biting her lip.
“Hi, Tiffany,” the girl sneered, her wild black hair quivering as she moved. “I’m Bella.” Swallowing, Tiffany turned, parting her hair and ignoring the way the droplets of water dripped onto her shoulders.
“H-hi…” the girl said nervously. Even though Ravenclaws and Slytherins were supposed to somewhat get along, she was still scared as anything of the intimidating seventh year standing before her.
“Oh, don’t be nervous, sweetheart!” the girl exclaimed, cackling a bit. “I’m just here on behalf of a friend of mine.”
“A-a friend?”
“He’s got an interest in you,” the girl said in a teasing baby voice. Tiffany blushed brightly, tugging on her soaked locks. “If I tell you who it is, will you promise to go on a date with him?” Bella slid closer, nudging Tiffany with her elbow.
“I-I c-can’t go to Hogsmede… Lots of… Homework to do,” she muttered, eyes downcast.
“Alright,” Bella said with a dramatic sigh as her big hair brushed over Tiffany’s head. “But I’m still gonna try!” she threatened, cackling madly as she left. Tiffany frowned, disconcerted. I don’t need a Slytherin liking me, she thought to herself, shaking her head and looking in the mirror to see if she’d gotten all the potion. Sure enough, though the red hair was tangled and wet, it was clean.
When Tiffany reached the common room, nobody was around. However, her bag sat alone on the couch, a note tied to it from her roommate—all it said was a boy had left it for her. Shrugging, the girl slung her bag over her soaked shoulder and started up the steps. It was a nice day outside, and most of her classmates were outside by the lake. She leaned against her windowsill briefly, tilting her head. Since last year’s exams, for whatever reason, the Marauders had been quieter. Trisha said there’d been a fight between Lily, James, and Severus, but Tiffany never knew exactly how much of what her sister said was true.
“Got your bag I see,” Tiffany heard her roommate say. Turning, the girl nodded. “What happened to you hair?”
“Um…A second year’s potion…”
“Ah. Well, good luck.”
“…Huh?”
“Aren’t you going to Hogsmede with Sniv-Severus this weekend?” the girl said with a wicked grim. Tiffany blushed.
“N-no! What g-gave you that idea?”
“The fact that some Slytherins were talking about it. Are you sure you’re not just hiding your date from me?” the girl teased, putting her hands on her hips and tilting her head at Tiffany.
“W-well, th-they’re just…Just playing a-around.” Tiffany said, trying to make her point clear. She shook her head exasperatedly as her friend’s smirk persisted, moving from the window and dropping onto her bed. She unlatched her bag and opened it, before jumping back.
A glass vial had rolled out, filled with a smoky substance. Carefully, Tiffany pulled out her wand, prodding the cork top of the vial. “It doesn’t look dangerous. If anything, it’s only smoke,” she said out loud, reaching out for the glass tube. She turned it around, inspecting it.
“I’m gonna get outta here before you blow us up,” Tiffany’s roommate said, hurrying out the door. Shrugging, the Ravenclaw went back to her inspection. Slowly, she eased the cork top out of the vial, resting it on her side-table.
The smoke began to rise in white plumes, curling up into the air above Tiffany’s head. Looking up, she saw that it was forming words. Instantly, the red head blushed. So this was what they were all talking about. Spelled out above her was Severus Snape’s invitation to the Hogsmede weekend trip. “Oh,” she said quietly, waving her wand and dispelling the words quickly.
The next day, Saturday, Tiffany dodged through the streams of students heading to Hogsmede, and finally she found a deserted corridor. At the end of the hall was the library. The librarian didn’t even look up from her Daily Prophet as Tiffany seated herself at a window-facing table. Outside, she could see first and second years goofing off by the lake, since they were too young to go to Hogsmede.
Sighing, the American pulled out a few rolls of parchment and her textbooks. She was going to be productive this weekend, no matter what anybody said. She flipped the pages of her book, reading through the notes she had on little scraps of parchment. Her essay for Defense Against the Dark Arts was about the effects of ghosts on the human psyche, and having only encountered the friendly Hogwarts ghosts, she’d been fretting over the assignment for a day or so.
Tiffany heard a noise behind her, and she looked over her shoulder, blushing instantly.
“Always doing homework,” Severus said, sitting down in the seat beside her and snatching her essay away, reading the start she’d made. “You certainly are a Ravenclaw.”
Tiffany bit her lip and snatched the parchment back, rolling it up. “Well, perhaps other students should stay home on Saturdays instead of frolicking in Hogsmede,” she said, glad she didn’t stutter. Severus chuckled darkly, shaking his head. “What?” Tiffany demanded softly, frowning.
“That accent.”
“Oh, shush!” she admonished, blushing and looking down at her textbook.
“I must say,” Severus said, and Tiffany stubbornly refused to look up at him. “That accent is rather cute.” Again, the red head’s hair matched her face. She chanced a glance up through her two black streaks, and caught sight of Severus’ cocky smirk. “Why didn’t you want to come to Hogsmede?”
“H-homewor-ork,” Tiffany stammered, her stutter back.
“Well, if I promise to help you all week, how about next weekend?” The Slytherin tilted his head, smirk still intact as he reached for Tiffany’s hand, which was sitting on her paper. “What do you say?” he asked, taking up the hand as if to shake it—like they were making a deal.
“A-all r-right,” she said hesitantly.
“It’s a date then.”
“Okay.”
“That accent…”
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Posted: Wed Apr 06, 2011 8:25 pm
Draco shoved the paper away from himself, dipped his quill into his ink, and dropped a few splotches on the top of Tegan’s Potions essay before returning to his own.
“Hey!” she protested quietly, quickly pulling out her wand and using a spell to siphon off the still wet ink. The two sixth years glared at each other, until Professor McGonagall came across the two.
“Ms. Willows, Mr. Malfoy—do I need to separate you two?” The two shook their heads and leaned back over their own work. It wasn’t long before Draco threw his quill down on the textbook he’d been reading. Tegan couldn’t help but look up from her essay and she tilted her head.
“It makes no sense,” he muttered under his breath.
“What doesn’t make sense?” Tegan whispered, craning her neck to try and decipher just what it was that he was working on.
“Snape’s essay,” he muttered, flipping the page back and forth a couple times. “I don’t remember what he was talking about when he lectured us on dragons.”
Rolling her eyes, Tegan whispered to him, “He was talking about the ways to kill dragons. Remember the name of the class, Malfoy?” He glared at her and scratched out something he’d written.
“I understand that the point is about defense. I’m saying how the hell do you defend yourself against a scaly reptile who just wants to char you up and eat you?” Draco shook his head and started to pack up before he pushed away from the table, storming away. Professor McGonagall called after him, insisting that class wasn’t over yet, but he ignored her and left the classroom.
“Well, somebody’s having a rough morning,” Padma murmured to Tegan, who nodded.
“No kidding.”
- - - - - - - - -
The library was creaky, and Tegan Willows was completely undisturbed. Even late at night, the library at Hogwarts school was full of late-night studiers who knew that any moment Madam Pince would be informing them it was time to return to their common rooms. Tegan was particularly caught up in a book she’d found in the Restricted Section, under the recommendation of Professor Hagrid.
“Hey Willows,” Tegan heard, and she looked up. Ron Weasley was peering over the table at her book, his best friend the notorious Harry Potter standing beside him. “Whatcha working on?”
“Just doing some extra research on dragons for Professor Snape’s essay,” she said, shrugging. Ron shook his head and sat down, turning her book towards him with a somewhat fascinated look.
“You’re just as bad as Hermione,” Harry told his friend, also sitting down at her table and putting down the books he held.
“Spellbooks?” she questioned, tilting her head to read the bindings. “Are you looking for something specific? I could help you,” she said, but Harry shook his head after a shared look with Ron.
“No thanks, I—“
“Willows!” came a whispered shout from across the stacks of books. The white-blond head of Draco Malfoy nodded towards the row he was standing behind, and Tegan raised an eyebrow.
“Unless you plan to apologize for blowing up, why don’t you just keep whatever you have to yourself,” she challenged, turning from him in time to see Harry narrow his eyes at Draco. “Is something wrong?” she asked, before she stopped herself. “Oh, right, big rivalry between you two. Forgot.” She pushed back the strand of wavy black hair that fell over her eyes and smiled at Harry before pulling the book out from under Ron’s hand. “If you two don’t mind, I don’t like to break curfew,” she said, shoving the volume into her bag and covering it with her cloak with a wink. It was a well known fact that Madam Pince didn’t allow her Restricted Section books out of the library.
Harry and Ron said goodbye as Tegan left, rounding towards a hidden staircase she’d found the previous year.
“Willows, where are you going?” Tegan rolled her eyes at Draco’s irritated tone as she pushed past the tapestry. “Tegan!” She froze.
“What?” Turning around, she took in Draco’s messy hair, dark eye-bags, and sleepy expression.
“I did wanna say I’m sorry. I just…Don’t get what he’s saying half the time. Too much through one ear and too much out the other.”
“It’s okay,” she said, shrugging. “But remember, dragons’ underbellies are their weakest points and my open period is tomorrow afternoon should you need more help.” With that, she playfully saluted him and disappeared into the secret passage.
“No kidding,” he murmured after her, hurriedly pulling out a scrap piece of parchment and scribbling down the little fun fact about dragons.
- - - - - - - - - -
“Tegan, I need your help,” Draco said, flopping down in front of the lounging Ravenclaw, who sat beneath a tree by the lake, her cloak spread out to create a blanket for her to sit on.
“Still the same essay?” she questioned, opening one eye and gazing up at the flustered looking blond.
“No, this one’s….different. Do you know anything about…” he sat down close to her, pushing her books away and looking around. “Vanishing cabinets?” he said quietly, looking at her from the corner of his eye. Tegan raised her eyebrow.
“I know enough. Why?”
“Hypothetically…If one were to break…Would it be fixable?” Tegan frowned and pulled her knees to her chest, resting her chin on her right knee.
“Well, vanishing cabinets are a magical object. Therefore, the fixing of them depends entirely on the making of them, the magic charms that were placed on them, and the magical talent of the one fixing them. Say these cabinets were highly specialized, used for some sort of war or something. It’s likely that their original charms only allowed certain people to use them, or even see them. It’d also be likely that to fix them, you’d have to have both together and both broken because their specialized charms would need to be broken. Not to mention that if the person attempting to fix them is an incompetent wizard, the spells to fix it won’t work anyways.” She looked over at Draco and frowned. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason,” he said quickly, looking away and picking at the grass. “On second thought, I don’t need your help on anything after all,” he said, beginning to push himself up.
“Where are you going?” she asked, curious. “Are you—“
“I’m fine!” he yelled, glaring at her before grabbing his bag and storming off.
“No kidding,” she muttered, crossing her arms. There’s something going on with him…
- - - - - - - - - -
Tegan watched from the rows of books, frowning. Draco hadn’t moved in half an hour, still studying the same book about spells. Between him and Harry, I’d swear that people are getting too interested in strange spells, she thought to herself irritably. She’d skipped dinner to watch Draco, and she was beginning to regret it. Maybe I should just leave, she thought, putting the book she’d been pretending to read back onto the shelf.
She came around the edge of the bookshelf and accidentally collided with none other than Draco, who’d finally abandoned his search. “Evening,” she said, tilting her head and looking at the book. “Fixing spells? You know, it’s starting to—“
“Just shut up,” he muttered, pushing past her and disappearing into the Restricted Section.
“Look like you’re rather pissy,” she muttered, shaking her head.
- - - - - - - - - -
“Draco!” Tegan called after the retreating form of her Slytherin friend as Defense Against the Dark Arts let out. She started to run, tossing her bag to Padma and chasing after him. “Yo, Malfoy!” she shouted as he attempted to duck into an empty classroom. That’s funny—isn’t this the seventh floor? she thought to herself as she caught the closing door, sliding into the room. She raised an eyebrow, ignoring the strange sound of stone closing up behind her.
“Draco?” she called, amazed at the echo she heard through the rows and rows of junk that stretched out in front of her. She heard a noise to her right, and she turned, catching sight of an exasperated boy.
“What are you doing in here?”
“I followed you; didn’t you hear me calling?” He shook his head and his eyes darted nervously around.
“Well, you’re here. What do you want so you can leave?” Tegan frowned.
“Why are you trying to get rid of me?” She tilted her head. “I’m not stupid: What are you hiding?” He blanched.
“N-nothing, now get out!”
“Through what door?” Tegan challenged, gesturing around the room with no doors. He glared at her.
“I’ll make one—how’s that?” he growled, grabbing Tegan by the arm and dragging her towards the blank stretch of wall.
“Draco!” she shouted, wincing against his grip. “Ouch!” He paused, looking down at her and loosening his hand from her arm.
“Sorry. I didn’t realize I was that…strong,” he said quietly.
“No kidding,” she said sarcastically, rubbing her arm. “Draco,” she said quietly, looking up at him. “You’re tired, flustered, frightened.” He winced. “What’s wrong?”
“You wouldn’t understand,” he muttered, turning his face away from her. Tegan reached up and took his chin, pulling his face towards her.
“You say that,” she said quietly, stepping towards him and tilting her head. “Could I try?”
“No!” he shouted, pushing her away from him. Tegan tripped backwards, and as she started falling, Draco reached out and caught her wrist, yanking her roughly back up. She tripped forward this time, and Draco caught her again, looking down into her golden brown eyes. “I don’t want you to get hurt,” he muttered, narrowing his eyes.
“No kidding,” she said and he glared at her.
“Will you quit saying that? It’s annoying!” he growled at her, leaning closer.
“Will you tell me what’s wrong?”
“No!” At this point, the two’s noses were nearing each other’s and they were both glaring narrowly at each other. The next moment, and Tegan’s memory couldn’t quite recall how it had happened, the two were kissing. Her fingers raked through Draco’s hair, and he wrapped his arms around her waist, clinging to her as though she would disappear any moment.
Finally, Tegan pulled back, staring up at Draco as he seemed to realize what had happened. “That was unexpected,” she whispered.
“No kidding,” he responded, pulling her into his chest and stroking her hair.
“What happened to the annoying thing?” she asked. He just hugged her tighter. “Draco…”
“Just, let the moment last. Please.”
“Alright,” Tegan whispered, closing her eyes. But I will find out what’s wrong.
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Posted: Wed Apr 06, 2011 8:32 pm
“Hey Meggers,” George Weasley greeted amiably, tousling her dark brown hair and handing her a piece of toast before leaning against the counter beside her. “It’s been a while, catch any good ex-Death Eaters?” he asked, chewing his own toast.
“Yeah, you were in Russia for long enough,” Ginny piped up as she came into the kitchen.
“Sit down, dear,” Mrs. Weasley insisted, pushing Meg into a chair and putting a large bowl of soup, two ham sandwiches, and a few pieces of toast in front of her.
“Mrs. Weasley, you know I can’t eat this much,” she said, laughing good-heartedly.
“Nonsense. You need some meat on your bones!” The two Weasley siblings laughed together and stuck their tongues out at Meg, leaving her to her fate of eating all her food. “I’ll be back, Dearie,” she said, patting the girl on her shoulder before leaving the room. Meg sighed and shook her head, twirling her spoon around in her bowl of soup.
“This is why I hate having friends over,” Meg heard someone say, and she looked up, smiling as Ron Weasley himself entered the kitchen. “Sorry about her.”
“I’m used to it by now,” she said, laughing and smiling at her friend. “How’ve you been, Ron?”
“Same old same old,” he said, shrugging and pulling out a chair at the table across from Meg. “Hermione should be here in a few hours, too,” he mentioned nonchalantly, stealing one of the sandwiches on her plate and smiling lopsidedly when she slapped his hand.
“How is Hermione?”
“She’s doing good…She’s engaged,” he said, taking a bite of the sandwich as Meg almost spit out her soup.
“Engaged?! I don’t think I’ve even met her boy-fiancé, yet!” Ron just shrugged, continuing to chew the sandwich steadily. “Is he at least nice?”
“Of course,” Ron said, nodding vigorously. “Harry and I made sure he wasn’t secretly evil…Or like McLaggen from Hogwarts. Remember him?” Meg laughed, rolling her eyes, and Ron took that as a yes. “Yeah, I don’t get why she ever dated him.” Biting her tongue, Meg took another bite of toast and swirled her soup with her spoon. Now that Hermione and Ron were just friends again, she didn’t think she needed to point out she’d only dated Cormac to make Ron jealous.
Unnecessary information, she told herself. Finally, she decided she could eat no more, and she stood, intending to take her dishes to the sink. “I’ll get them! You’re a guest,” Ron said, reaching across the table and pulling the dishes out of Meg’s grasp, just barely catching them as he almost dropped them. Meg laughed, and shook her head.
Pulling out his wand, Ron muttered a quick spell and sent the dishes careening into the sink, almost breaking them. “Oops,” he said, the tops of his ears turning a bright tomato read, which only made Meg laugh more. He turned his face away from her, embarrassed, and Meg calmed down her laughing, feeling bad.
“It’s alright—I’ve done worse,” she assured him, standing and pushing her chair back in. Almost hurriedly, Ron stood up as well, almost falling over the leg of his chair.
“Easy there, Ron,” Ginny teased, coming back into the kitchen with a smile. “You’re going to kill yourself over this girl one day.” The comment sent both Meg and Ron blushing and glancing away from each other. “Fine, maybe not that drastic,” Ginny said, heading back into the living room. Meg, deciding to avoid and awkward silence, trailed after the girl, pleasantly surprised to see her seated next to Harry on the couch.
“Hello Harry; didn’t know you were here,” she said, sitting in a chair and smiling at him.
“Hello Meg. I’d say the same, except Ron had this goofy expression when I arrived, so I assumed.” There was a chorus of laughter around the room and Meg’s ears turned as bright a red as her face was sure to be. For the few years since he and Hermione had broken up (and even a few times before then) there had been endless teasing directed towards the two friends. Meg was sure of her own feelings, having always had a little bit of a thing for her Gryffindor friend. But, what with their difference of houses, they’d always been distanced a little bit, if only for a few hours out of the day.
Things had changed, naturally, after Voldemort’s defeat. Hermione and Ron had come back from that trip of theirs together, which had been a bit of a blow for Meg, but the relationship hadn’t lasted very long.
Finally, Ron himself came out of the kitchen, the tips of his ears still a little pink as he flopped down on the other side of his best friend. “So, what were we talking about?” Everyone just laughed and shook their heads at him. “What?”
- - - - -
“Meg, please!” Ginny begged, giving a wide-eyed innocent begging face to the girl. “What could be the harm?” Meg gave an incredulous look towards the red-head, shaking her head.
“Oh, I don’t know. The Idea of wearing heels, one thing. That’s just a sprain waiting to happen. Then the idea of dancing. Oh, and did I forget to mention you’re asking me to go to a wedding as your brother’s date?” The younger girl shrugged slightly.
“I thought that’d be the one thing that inspired you to go the most,” she admitted grudgingly. Meg stared in shock.
“Absolutely not.”
“Please?”
“No.” The girl huffed and shook her head.
“Fine, I’ll find him some other—“
“Fine,” Meg said abruptly, as she knew Ginny had known she would. Sure enough, the Weasley girl smirked. “On one condition: I dress myself.” Ginny seemed to ponder this for a moment, before nodding.
“But dress nicely!”
- - - - -
Meg tugged at her dress, entirely uncomfortable as she waited at the front door of the Weasley household. It was time for another one of their weddings, this time for Charlie and another dragon tamer he’d met in Romania. So, there Meg stood, wearing a dress that she and Hermione had picked out, flat shoes (thank goodness) and waiting for Ron, whom Ginny was supposedly prepping for his interaction.
The graduated Hufflepuff girl looked down at herself, smoothing her skirt and tugging it in certain ways.
“Wow,” she heard someone say from the steps, and she blushed without even looking up, knowing the voice immediately. “Meg…You look great!” Ron said, coming towards her with a grin. She looked up at him, smiling a little when she saw he was just as red as she was sure to be. “Seriously.”
“Thanks. You don’t look too bad yourself,” she said, amazed at how nonchalant the sentence sounded coming from her. She felt as though she should be shaking like a leaf, but she managed to stay standing long enough for Ron to extend his hand towards her and open the front door. Outside, like at Bill’s wedding, there were white tented pavilions filled with guests everywhere, and a silver dance floor underneath one of the collections of tents. Charlie and his fiancée were nowhere to be seen, which was unfortunate, considering the ceremony was due to start any moment.
As the pair stepped under the tents, laughter began, and they turned to see that Charlie and his bride-to-be had appeared, red faced and apparently late to their own wedding. Even Ron and Meg couldn’t help but laugh at the two as they made their way to the altar.
After the short exchange of vows, the first dance, and all that shebang, Meg found herself dancing with Ron in a slow, lazy circle, amongst other couples who hadn’t been pushed into chairs due to drunkenness yet. “So, how did Ginny talk you into the dress?” Ron asked into their silence.
“Mm, she pointed out the real reason for being here.”
“To support Charlie?” Meg shook her head. “To make fun of Charlie?” Again, she shook her head. “What?” She shrugged and smiled a little, blushing. “Please tell me?”
“Okay; Ron.” She didn’t imply anything with her tone, but she wondered if he’d caught on when the Weasley man didn’t say anything back.
“So…what was the offer?” Meg sighed exasperatedly and looked Ron in the eye. “What?”
Feeling courageous, Meg pushed herself up onto her toes and leaned forward until she met her friend’s lips with a sweet and gentle kiss before she lowered herself again. He blinked down at her for a moment, in a daze, before he seemed to focus.
Leaning in, Ron and Meg met for another sweet kiss, only the second of many they would share for years.
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Posted: Wed Apr 06, 2011 8:42 pm
Her grades wouldn’t suffer from one day of missing an Herbology class with the Gryffindors (not a huge loss, really) and a Charms class with the Ravenclaws. See how Pansy likes that, hm? she thought, curling her legs to her chest and reaching for her wand so she could shut the curtains over the sunlight streaming through their fully opened window. She’s such an annoying git…
Only a few short hours later, Preom was disturbed by a rapid hammering on her door. Sitting up and blinking, the Slytherin girl just stared at the door as it visibly shuddered. She strained her ears to hear the voices behind the door. Soon, the knob rattled, and none other than a confident Blaise Zabini walked in, gesturing for his fellows to follow him. Behind him were the notoriously stupid Crabbe and Goyle, and their leader: Draco Malfoy.
Preom immediately fixated a glare on Blaise, not for waking her up, but for letting her be seen while her hair was sticking up like a rat’s nest. “What do you want?” she demanded, her voice groggy from sleeping.
“To see if you were alright,” Blaise said, looking at Draco with a smirk.
“Well if you want me to be alright you’ll leave the girls’ dorms!” she said, picking up a pillow from the ground and tossing it at Blaise. The tall boy ducked and the pillow hit Draco square in the chest. He glared at Blaise for a moment before kicking the pillow back into the dorm room.
“Glad to see you are, indeed, alright,” Blaise said, somewhat teasingly, as he ushered Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle out of the room. Just before he shut the door, he glanced back at Preom with a wink and a mock salute. The Slytherin girl groaned angrily, picked up her pillow, and fell backwards on her bed, covering her eyes with the thick, feathery contraption.
“I know, Blaise,” she muttered to herself. The annoying antics of her best friend always carried a double meaning. During their first year, when she’d been a quiet girl who tried to get along with everyone, he’d quietly gone around to all her Hufflepuff and Gryffindor acquaintances, telling them made-up stories. It had been to force her to become the Slytherin she’d unknowingly wanted to be. There had been that fight they’d had during fourth year, when she’d wanted to sneak her name into the Goblet of Fire, and he’d humiliated her during a duel with a Ravenclaw, to convince her she wasn’t ready to take on the challenge.
Now, he was pushing her into awkward situations with Draco Malfoy, because he wanted them to quit denying their “feelings.” Did Draco understand that yet? He’d never spent very much time with Blaise, usually just going around with Crabbe and Goyle.
There was an insistent tapping on Preom’s window, and the girl sat straight up, glaring at the glass. Hovering there was her owl, Pluto, and she slid out of bed, opening the window latch and taking the short piece of parchment that the owl had brought to her. With an affectionate pat on the creature’s head, Preom turned, unrolling the parchment and raising her eyebrow. That was certainly Blaise’s handwriting.
The message said nothing but to arrive at the edges of the Forbidden Forest , and Preom had to admit she was confused.
- - - - -
At eight ‘o clock that evening, Preom Sarkar excused herself from dinner and quickly headed into the nearest loo. She leaned against the counter and pulled a hairbrush out of her bag, quickly running it through her long, dark hair. Blaise’s handwriting or not, she knew that she wouldn’t be meeting that annoying best friend of hers out by the forest that evening.
She pulled her black hood up from the back of her Slytherin robes and quickly snuck down the front hall to the front doors of the Hogwarts castle. It was cracked, as she’d suspected her best friend would do for her, and she slipped through silently. Tucking her hair behind her ears again, she started down the lawn, glancing around. Nobody was about, and Preom had seen Filch at dinner, which meant she was temporarily in the clear. Then again, even if she did get caught, who could possibly say no to her, “I’m a good girl!” act?
The air outside was chillier than Preom had expected, and she shivered slightly before tightening her cloak on her shoulders. The moonlight was thin, barely a sliver beneath the clouds, and the fifteen-year-old briefly cursed herself. However, all of her thoughts seemed to disappear as she caught sight of a gleaming white-haired head off in the distance, precisely where the meeting place in her letter had said. Blaise had certainly gone out of his way this time, but could Preom be angry with him? Of course not.
She hurried her pace, and skidded a little on the slippery hill, before reaching Draco Malfoy. “Hello,” she said pleasantly, startling the Slytherin boy and causing him to turn around rapidly.
“Preom! You shouldn’t be sneaking up on people like that,” he grumbled, glancing around and nonchalantly running his fingers through his hair. “What are you doing here, anyhow?” Preom’s heart sank a little and she shrugged, pulling her hood down and flicking her hair over her shoulder.
“Whatever you’re doing down here, I suppose,” she answered vaguely. Perhaps he hadn’t received parchment like Blaise had sent to her; maybe Blaise had just told him to head down to the forest. “Not worried about being caught?” Draco smirked, his signature “for the ladies” smirk, and shook his head.
“Umbridge would get me out of any trouble in a heartbeat. It’s always good to be on the side of the power-holder.” Preom chuckled a little, delighted at how perfectly charming Draco could be even as he said sinister things.
“Would she spare me, as well?” she questioned, taking a small step forward. She could’ve sworn that Draco’s smirk grew wider as he shrugged.
“I’m sure I could convince her. Wouldn’t want Slytherin’s Prefect to have a tarnished reputation, would we?” he teased. Preom laughed again, meeting the steel gray eyes that held her gaze. “I’m sure you’re here for a specific reason, Sarkar,” he said. “Curiosity kills, you know.”
“Well, to prevent you dying, I’ll tell you,” Preom said with another laugh. “Right after you boys left my dormitory, after so rudely entering,” Draco rubbed the back of his neck, almost nervously, “my owl came to give me a little note, telling me to come here. I’m not sure who it was from, but I’m guessing you?” This time, it was Preom’s turn to smirk at Draco, who looking both confused and nervous.
Of course, sneaky little Preom knew it was Blaise who’d sent the letter, but that wouldn’t work well with her plan. If Draco had to say he’d sent it, then that meant he’d also have to have a valid, and possibly romantic reason, for wanting to see her by the forest at such an hour.
The usually cocky and confident Malfoy heir was currently thinking over the choice of words he should use in approaching this situation. Naturally, his mind jumped straight to Blaise Zabini, who upon learning of the Slytherin’s attraction to Preom Sarkar, had started efforts to force the two together. Was this one of his many plots? And if so, should he bluntly mention that Blaise was behind this all, or pretend that whatever was written in that letter was from him?
Seconds ticked by with the passage of time of hours, but Preom’s smirk never faded. Finally, Draco sighed and pushed his hair back. “Yeah, alright. I sent that. I just didn’t think you’d, er, actually show up,” he said, shrugging and crossing his arms over his chest while nonchalantly looking away from the girl and more towards the trees.
“Well, I’m here now. What did you need? Help with your Transfiguration homework?” she asked, silently laughing as Draco faced her with a glare.
“No, I’m doing perfectly fine on my work without help, thank you very much,” he said, his tone indignant. “I, er, I was wondering if you’d like to come with me to the next Hogsmede trip.” For a moment he seemed to think. “After all, Crabbe and Goyle are both in a detention that day, and Blaise has been irritating lately. I’ve got nothing better to do, and—“
“I’d love to,” Preom said, cutting off Draco. His flustered tone amused her greatly, and she had to fight to keep the broad grin from her face.
- - - - -
Their first date was a memorable one. With Blaise stalking them from behind, making sure Draco said all the right things and Preom didn’t laugh. Draco’s grades improved amazingly with their relationship, since every night she forced him to do homework with her. Unlike everyone else in their year, Preom wasn’t surprised to see Draco’s test scores matched her own. She wanted a smart boyfriend, and she got a smart boyfriend.
They spent that summer together at Malfoy Manor, where Preom struck both Lucius and Narcissa as “a charming young lady.” She alone knew Draco’s secret upon their arrival as sixth year Hogwarts students.
However, as Draco’s attentions began to stray from Preom, focusing on his task at hand, the Slytherin girl grew restless and unsettled, angrily telling Draco off and ending their relationship. It wasn’t until the fateful battle a year later that the two could face each other and not look away bitterly.
Though she’d never been on good terms with Harry Potter, Preom felt she was forever in his debt for saving Draco’s life in the Room of Requirement. It took Draco and her only a few years to return to their state before Draco became a Death Eater.
They were married, and naturally a Sarkar-Malfoy wedding had to be extravagant. After that, Draco and Preom seemed to disappear entirely from England, though there were rumors of where they’d gone. They weren’t seen again until that day on Platform 9 ¾ when their only son boarded the Hogwarts Express along with the children of their fellow Hogwarts graduates.
Nobody ever doubted that Scorpius looked just like his father, but once he reached the top of his year, everyone laughed and decided Preom was certainly his mother. Every time he came home during Christmas, Draco would sit him down and tell him the story of how he and Preom got together, emphasizing the long and tedious nights he’d spent earning grades to impress her. Of course, this conversation nearly always ended with a pillow fight between the three of them.
The lesson of that story, though, was that if Preom wants something, Preom will get it.
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Posted: Wed Apr 06, 2011 8:45 pm
“Alright, you three will have detention every Saturday evening for a month. Please, for the love of Quidditch, don’t make Gryffindor lose!”
“We won’t professor,” George assured her as Fred bobbed his head. Sarah just smiled reassuringly. The professor waved her hand at the three, gesturing for them to leave. The three got up and exited the office. As Fred and George headed down the corridor, Sarah turned, intending to go down to the lake for a bit to think. However, her short frame was blocked by someone much taller and she looked up with a smile.
“Hello Sarah,” said the deep voice of Oliver Wood. Smiling up at her Quidditch team captain, who happened to be in the same year as herself, Sarah gave a little mock wave that caused her fellow Gryffindor to chuckle at her. “What did you three do, this time?”
“We helped Peeves out a little against Filch. Just a little, not a lot,” she said with a shrug, as if this were regular. Oh, wait, it was. “Don’t worry, our punishment doesn’t interfere with the Quidditch schedule. Do you think McGonagall would do such a blasphemous thing?” she said, pretending to be appalled. Again, Oliver chuckled and shook his head, moving so he could walk beside Sarah in the hallway.
They reached one of the moving staircases, and had to stop and wait for it to come back. Chatting casually about things like Quidditch plans and whatnot, the two started up the staircase. Being seventh years, they’d memorized which steps on the Hogwarts staircases didn’t exist. Or, at least, Sarah had. Even with her short legs, she hopped over the invisible step, whereas Oliver, who was concentrating mostly on Sarah’s three-toned eyes, slipped on the invisible step and went down.
“Whoa!” Sarah said, hopping back to the step she’d just been on. “You okay, Oliver?” she asked, holding out a hand to help him up.
The keeper, having been sufficiently embarrassed in front of Sarah, ignored her hand and pushed himself out of the step without looking at her, hopping up onto the next step. “Yeah, fine,” he said gruffly, brushing off his robes. “Uh, look, I have… Strategies to make, so—“
“Want me to help?” Sarah asked enthusiastically. Aside from pranks, planning for Quidditch games was her favorite activity. Oliver looked a bit surprised, but he shook his head, quickly rushing up the stairs and away from Sarah. “What’s his problem?” she muttered to herself, turning and heading back down the stairs and the corridor, intending to sit by the lake like she’d originally planned.
- - - - -
“Sarah! Fly left that way and over Harry!” Looking down, the blond girl nodded and did what Oliver had asked as he looked down at his chart. “Alright, now Angelina, Alicia, Sarah: Use the Parkin’s Pincer formation!” he called out, and the three girls moved together. Fred was their chaser dummy for the temporary time, and he smiled and waved at the three girls flying right at him.
Sarah rolled her eyes. This was Quidditch practice, not a fun game with her friends.
“Good!” Oliver called out to them. The four players turned to see what he’d ask them to execute next. All day he’d been working their various techniques rather than actually coming up with a plan for their upcoming game with Ravenclaw. However, Sarah knew where he was coming from. If they could play or match against any of the well-known Quidditch techniques, and use a few of their own, then their game would be flawless.
“Sarah, Angelina, try out the Woollongong Shimmy against Fred and Alicia! George, try hitting the bludgers at them while they do it!” Sarah frowned a little; she didn’t particularly like working with Angelina. The two flew at about a five-foot distance, performing the move and dodging the bludgers that Fred hit at them. When Oliver blew his whistle, all the team members floated to the ground. Sarah stood with Fred and George as Oliver discussed plans with Harry, warning him against the Ravenclaw seeker, Cho Chang.
Sarah rolled her eyes. Of course, they were playing against that cocky little girl. Even a three-year distance wasn’t enough for Sarah. She wasn’t sure what it was about Chang that she didn’t particularly like, but it was probably her skill as a seeker.
“Good practice,” Oliver told them all, seeing as it was becoming too dark for them to continue flying, and most of them were already complaining about being hungry. Sarah walked slower than the twins, dragging her feet tiredly. She hadn’t slept well the night before, and it had certainly taken its toll on her. “Are you alright?” Oliver asked her, and Sarah looked up, blinking.
“Yeah, I guess. Just tired.”
“Well get some rest. Wouldn’t want our best chaser to be anything but at the top of her game for our match,” he said, giving her a quick hug. She smiled a little, shaking her hair from her face. “See you later,” he said gruffly after a moment. Sarah blew her hair from her eyes, since shaking apparently had no effect, and shook her head.
- - - - -
After their, admittedly, game with Ravenclaw, Oliver had been a little down. Of course, he didn’t blame Harry; who could? But he was still down in the dumps. Sarah, naturally, was determined to make him laugh before the week was out. However, it was Thursday, and so far she’d had no such luck.
With a determined look fixed on her face, the seventh year strode to where Oliver was sitting in the bleachers by the Quidditch pitch, dropping down onto a seat beside him. She succeeded in making him jump, at least.
“What are you doing here?” Oliver grumbled, turning his face away from Sarah. Frowning, the blond girl nudged his shoulder with her own.
“You need to cheer up, mister. And quick, before I force you into a hilariously humiliating prank.” She could see the corner of Oliver’s mouth twitch ever so slightly. “C’mon. Smile!” she said exasperatedly.
“I’m just a little tired,” he said with a shrug, but Sarah knew him better than that.
“Don’t even think about lying to me, Oliver. Do I need to start calling you Olli? Do I need to—“ Oliver’s hand came over Sarah’s mouth and he chuckled a little, the sound Sarah had wanted to hear all along.
“Okay, I get the picture,” he told her, removing his hand and turning to face her. “Thanks. I guess I really did need a pick-me-up.” He ran a hand through his hair, which was starting to get a little shaggy, and then leaned his elbows on his knees. “So, Sarah, how are you?” The blond shrugged.
“I’ve been worse. I’m glad to see you’re not dying anymore,” she joked, smiling at her Quidditch captain, who couldn’t help but chuckle lightly again. “Y’know, Olli—“
“Don’t call me that.”
“Oliver,” she corrected, rolling her eyes at the boy and restarting. “Y’know, Hogsmede trip is coming up. Fred and George got banned from it for the rest of the year a while back. I need someone to hang out with.” If only Sarah had a tomato to compare Oliver Wood’s face to.
“You wanna go? As in…”
“Yes, as in like a date,” Sarah said, exasperated that this was taking so long. “Unless that’s a problem.”
“No!” said Oliver quickly, holding up his hands and shaking them frantically. “No, it’s fine. Just, er, not everyday that a girl asks her Quidditch captain out on a date, y’know?”
Smiling, Sarah stood and took Oliver’s hand. “Yeah, I know.”
- - - - -
Oliver and Sarah sat down across from each other in a booth at the Three Broomsticks that weekend, laughing at something that Sarah had just done. Another one of her ridiculous antics, the kind that Oliver had to admit had always secretly amused him.
After ordering a couple of butterbeers, the two fell into a comfortable silence, just smiling across the table at each other. “So,” Sarah began, playing with a thread from the sleeve of her jacket. Oliver tilted his head and raised an eyebrow.
“Is the great Sarah, ringleader of the pranksters, running out of things to say? My god, it’s a cataclysmic event!” he said jokingly. Sticking her tongue out, Sarah crossed her arms, pretending to stubbornly refuse to say anything. “Oh, come on. Like you could last five minutes sitting with me and not say anything.”
In retort, Sarah just stuck out her tongue again, but now her face assumed a smirk of challenge. Last five minutes without talking to the Quidditch freak across from her? Oh, she’d win, of course. The seconds seemed to tick slowly as Oliver ranted on about something random, a picturesque smirk gracing his features the entire time he did so, but still Sarah just gave him a silent treatment.
The competitive little Gryffindor was thinking about this entire adventure as a sport; she wasn’t about to lose a big game in a sport, now, was she? Finally, Oliver checked his watch, and glared teasingly at Sarah. “Fine, you win,” he said, and she laughed out loud, sitting straighter and taking a sip of her drink before grinning broadly at the boy.
“Of course I did! Did you really think that for one second I was gonna let you win? Pshaw!” she said, sticking out her tongue for the third time so far. Oliver rolled his eyes at her antics, but just took a sip of his own drink.
“Sarah, Sarah, Sarah… You are just about the craziest person I know.”
“Yeah, I know.”
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Posted: Wed Apr 06, 2011 8:48 pm
When the peace and quiet was restored, Kit Neverline found she couldn’t fall back to sleep. Sitting up, she growled again, running a hand through the dirty blonde mess that came out of her head. She stretched her arms and yawned, staring around her room. The summer vacation had started a week ago, and she actually got vacation, since she was a teacher at Hogwarts. So far, she’d lasted a good two years as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, to everyone’s surprise.
So what was Kit’s plan for this freedom? Oh yeah, she signed up to help George Weasley out at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes… Brilliant plan, Kit Neverline, huh? She groaned, reminding herself that she was heading over to the Burrow that afternoon, where she’d be staying while helping at the shop.
“Urgh,” she managed before getting up and heading to her door. After opening the evil wooden contraption, she could smell bacon beckoning to her from downstairs, but she knew she wanted to take a shower first. Kit stood on the landing, deliberating between showering and bacon. Bacon ultimately won and she stomped down the stairs, grabbing the plate her mother offered and sitting down to eat.
“Good luck!” one of her brothers shouted as he left the room, a piece of toast dangling in his hand. He worked at the Ministry of Magic, so he would be using floo powder. Groaning again, Kit buried her face in her arms, grabbed a piece of bacon, and slipped it under her shield to eat.
- - - - -
A couple hours later, Kit Neverline looked presentable. She hugged her mum, slung her bag over her shoulder, and stepped into the fireplace, dropping a fistful of floo powder on the ground. “The Burrow!”
The familiar sensation of being whirled around and the blurring sight of fireplace after fireplace didn’t phase Kit, and when she was at the right fireplace, she simply stepped out. Of course, it was just her luck that she appeared in the living room of the burrow while George’s younger brother, Ron, and his girlfriend, Hermione, were there. It was always amusing for Kit to see somebody fly off the back of a couch, and she couldn’t help but chuckle evily as she passed Ron on the floor.
“You! With the face!” she shouted as she entered the kitchen. She successfully scared the second Weasley she’d come across. George turned, water dripping off his face as he glared at her flatly.
“Thank you for such a gracious entrance,” he said sarcastically, grabbing a towel and wiping the water droplets off his face. “Glad to see you’re punctual. You’re only, what, a day early?”
“You seem to be under the mistaken impression that I have forgotten the offer your mum gave me to stay here,” Kit said, leaning against the counter next to her friend and bumping his shoulder with her own. “I’m your new twin, dude,” she said.
George looked sad for a second before a grin broke his face. “Good. It’s a lonely existence being the only Weasley prankster.”
“Not a Weasley, but alright,” she said, shrugging and resting her elbow on his shoulder, though he was a good few inches taller than her. “Speaking of, when are we gonna hear those wedding bells? I believe both Ron and Ginny owe us that much,” she joked, chuckling a little. George laughed as well, shaking his head.
“Who knows.”
- - - - -
“And remember, what do you say if Ron asks for free merchandise?”
“That the price is doubled,” Kit responded, laughing a little and shaking her head. George saluted her and headed to the front of the store, where already several children had gathered in expectation. He opened the doors, welcomed them, and released them into the store. Kit smiled happily before moving to the front counter, offering assistance to a couple of girls looking at love potions.
The day went on with lots of laughter, which was always a good thing. Even as Diagon Alley got dark, people kept coming and coming. There was never a dull moment, however, that also meant there was never a moment where Kit and George could just relax and talk, like old times. When closing time came around, the two of them spent a good amount of time chasing down all the children still lurking in their shelves.
“Well, that was better than I expected,” she said, leaning on the front counter as George waved his wand methodically, closing the shop up. “Is that Peruvian Darkness Powder?” she asked, pointing to a spot on George’s cheek. The Weasley frowned, trying to wipe it off.
“Did I get it?” he asked, and Kit laughed, shaking her head. He tried, and failed, quite a few more times before she finally reached up and brushed the dark flakes of powder from his face, rolling her eyes at him and conveniently missing his faint blush.
“Time to go,” he said quickly, running a hand through his messy red hair before heading to the back where the fireplace was. Kit raised her eyebrow, following behind him.
“You alright?”
“Fine,” he responded, shrugging and tossing a smile over his shoulder. He took a handful of floo powder and stepped into the fireplace, tossing it down and saying, “The Burrow.” Kit looked around the shop. Even closed down, it looked cheerful and happy. She knew that George hadn’t been quite the same since Fred had died.
There were the shelves lined with Skiving Snackboxes, and underneath them the various fake wands and mini fireworks that were designed specially for annoying Filch. There was a founded bubbling with pink liquid that was a fill-your-own love potion, as well as the bottled products that were premade. There was the back room filled with the best products, like the Peruvian Darkness Powder.
Kit turned, sufficiently distracted, and took some floo powder. When she came out of the fireplace at the Burrow, George was still standing right there, and she ran right into his back. George went tumbling down on the living room floor, having been talking to his mother, who was in the doorway. Kit fell down on his back, a small “Oof!” coming from her as she did so.
“Thank you for that excellent landing,” George muttered, his face pressed into the floor. Mrs. Weasley rushed over, holding out a hand to help Kit up and brushing off the girl’s clothes, ignoring her son. As Mrs. Weasley backed away from Kit, the girl looked down at George with an amused smile, leaning down and helping him up. “Thanks,” he muttered, not looking her in the eye.
They’d gotten back just in time for dinner, and though they sat right next to each other, George didn’t say a word to Kit all through the meal. It bothered her to an extreme, and she was on edge for the rest of the night, even as she sat in the living room with Ron, Hermione, Harry, Ginny, and Mr. Weasley. George had gone up to his room, claiming there was a prototype for his shop he’d been meaning to work on.
While he was gone, the joke shop itself came into subject. Half an hour through the conversation, Mr. Weasley asked Kit if she knew when George would be moving back into the apartment over the shop. With a shrug, she responded that she didn’t know and went back to picking at the threads of the pillow on her lap.
“Y’know, he’s been working for a couple hours. I’m gonna bring him a snack,” Kit said quietly, getting up and heading into the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley was listening to a wireless at the table, and she glanced up.
“Hungry, dear?”
“No, I was going to bring George some—“ Within seconds, Mrs. Weasley was off, whipping up a small plate with two sandwiches, a few tarts, and two glasses of pumpkin juices.
“Here you go. Be sure to make him come out eventually tonight.” Kit nodded and assured her she would do just that before turning and heading up the stairs.
The door to the twins’ room, now just George’s, was clearly marked with several scorch marks, and Kit knew well that the lock didn’t work even with magic (courtesy of Mrs. Weasley) so she just pushed it open with her elbow and kicked it shut with her heel. George jumped, turning quickly to see who dared intrude on his thinking time.
“Hungry?” she asked, leaning over his shoulder to set the tray down on his desk before sitting on his bed with her glass of juice in hand. He paled a little and turned to the tray, reaching for one of the tarts and picking a corner off to eat.
“Alright, a little,” he admitted after a second of awkward silence. “I just got kinda sucked into the project, that’s all.” He stared down at the contraption on his desk, which had a screw pulled out of a joint and there appeared to be a wind up screw on its back.
“What’s it supposed to do?” she asked, attempting to reach out and take the little jumble of parts. George quickly pushed the pieces under a cover and blocked Kit’s hand with his arm.
“Sorry, it’s uh, still got a few glitches.”
“So? I’ve dealt with enough of your tricks while still in the making. Maybe I can help.” She reached over his arm and grabbed wildly at the thing, ignoring his attempts at pushing her away. “Quit it!” she said, laughing a little and finally scooping up the thing delicately. She sat back down on the bed as George looked on, a defeated expression coloring his face.
Kit pondered over the little thing curiously. She wanted to know exactly what it was, what it did, and why George was so obsessed with finishing it. It appeared to be the framework of some sort of an animal, and it reminded her of a dog: her favorite animal.
“Okay, I’m puzzled. What is it?”
“It’s, um, just… Something.”
“Alright, I’ll bite. What sort of something?” He sighed.
“Are you going to give up?” She shook her head and smiled at him. “Fine. I was making it to give to you. Happy?”
“What does it do?” A strangled sigh released itself from George, and he shook his head at her, turning away. “Oh come on! Tell me!” He glared at her slightly, reaching for the contraption.
“Just give it back!”
“No!” Kit refused, laughing. She held the thing behind her back, scooting away from him and smiling. To her, this was just a game with her best friend. George was still glaring, and he reached out to her, a pleading look in his eyes. She just shook and tilted her head at him.
George stood up and leaned over Kit, reaching for the contraption. She leaned back, trying to avoid relinquishing the object to him, and she wriggled away as he continued to reach for it.
“I’ll give it back if you tell me—“ Kit was cut off as George tripped on the edge of his bed, and came crashing down on her, knocking the wind out of her lungs and blocking all air flow when his lips crashed down onto hers. Both of their eyes widened as they met.
Then, Kit released the contraption, wrapped her arms around George’s neck, and closed her eyes, never skipping a beat. George couldn’t help but smile, because that was what he’d hoped the to-be-miniature dog would lead to.
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