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Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and Co. Unfortunately.

Say It : Chapter One

"Verbal vomit!"

Harry and Hermione exchanged glances.

"What?"

"Verbal vomit! What, you've never heard of it before?" Ron asked, an incredulous look on his face. Harry and Hermione exchanged another glance.

"Of course we've heard of it," Harry said, "but I'm not quite sure how that relates to anything."

Ron snorted, and leaned closer towards the two as if he were about to whisper a secret.

"O.K.," he admitted. "It isn't actually called Verbal Vomit." He glared at Hermione's "ah-ha!" before continuing. "I just can't remember what it's called. Mum used to tell me and Ginny all sorts of fairy tales back in the day. I remember one of them was 'bout a bloke who had millions of secrets! Hardly anything he spoke 'bout was what he was really thinking. Then suddenly, one day, when he was courting a girl he was to marry, instead of telling her that her dress was flatterin', he told her she was an ugly fat cow!"

"So? Just sounds like an insensitive prick to me."

"'Mione! Come on! I'm not even done with the story yet," Ron complained above of Harry's snickering.

"Oh, alright," Hermione conceded. "But this is just a waste of time."

"Anyways. The girl was absolutely horrified, since he had said it in front of her family and all, that she refused to see him for a long time. Depressed, he went to the local pub for a pint. There, his mouth just completely ran off! First off, he wasn't looking when he walked in the door, so he ran right into this huge-"

"All right, Ron. That's enough. Why don't you just tell us the important parts and save the fun ones for later?" Hermione said, exasperated.

"But 'Mione! The fun parts are the best parts!" Ron whined.

Harry laughed. "As much as I'd like to hear the fun parts, Hermione is right, Ron."

"Oh, alright," Ron grumbled. "Well, the whole myth of the story says that when someone consistently lies or never says what's actually on their mind, they get this huge build-up of suppressed emotions inside of them. And since your emotional core is tied with your magical core, it'll disrupt your magic. Eventually your magic will go haywire, and to fix itself, it'll start forcing you to speak only the truth. Something like that." He scratched at a stain in the thick common room rug. The trio fell into a silence while they all digested the new information.

"I think I've read something similar to that," Hermione suddenly said. Both Harry and Ron looked up from their carpet-pickings.

"Honestly?" Harry asked, incredulous, "I didn't think there was anything that could have been remotely real in that idiotic story." He blanched, and sighed. "No offense, Ron."

"None taken, mate. I didn't think so either."

"Well, it's slightly plausible. I can't believe I didn't remember this before. It's called 'Twisted Fingers' in rural areas by the local people. Its actual Latin name is fatum probitas, meaning 'strange honesty'. We don't actually have an emotional core; it's our souls and minds that 'filter' the emotions. Our magical cores are obviously tied to them, so any emotional or psychological damage will most likely also affect our ability to perform magic. Depending on the extent of the damage, of course, and its location. It also depends on the spell; if you were hit by a simple spell, then-"

"Come on, Hermione! Get to it, get to it!"

"Calm down, Harry!" Hermione huffed. "As I was saying, since our cores are so tightly connected, they are also able to interact with each other to certain extents. Ron was right about the 'emotional build-up'; eventually all the negative energy from all the suppressed emotions will begin to effect your magic. In turn, it will attempt to rectify the situation by forcing you to speak your mind, or the truth. In past cases, not everything said was actually truth, but more like…it just popped out. Hence," Hermione said, grudgingly, "the 'Verbal Vomit'."

"I was right! I was actually right!" Ron crowed, jumping to his feet to dance around the two still seated.

Harry grinned at his antics, and Hermione reluctantly broke a smile.

"Then," Harry asked, "how do I fix this? I can't go around spewing information on the Order whenever someone simply just asks for it."

Ron immediately sobered, and Hermione got a thoughtful look on her face.

"I don't think it works that way. You do, of course, have a certain extent of control over what you say, but you'll just have to be careful that you don't let all of the emotions build up." She gave Harry a soft look. "I know you're not very comfortable with sharing your thoughts, Harry, but Ron and I are always here to listen whenever you need us. Besides, it'll help with the Vomit."

Ron nodded enthusiastically. Harry grinned at the name, but he couldn't seem to shake the sense of impending doom.

* * * * * * * *

Harry wasn't quite sure what day it started on. He wanted to say Wednesday, but Hermione assured him that it was Thursday. And then Ron had said Monday, so now Harry was completely thrown off. So Wednesday seemed right for now.

It was Wednesday afternoon, and the three of them had just escaped the clutches of Hagrid's new pets in Care of Magical Creatures, and were now on their way to a double period of Herbology with their rivals and enemies, the Slytherins. Or, to be more exact, Draco Malfoy. It was well into September, but the heat outside was stifling. Both Harry and Ron had abandoned their sweaters in the common room at noon, and had loosened their ties and unbuttoned the first few buttons on their shirts. Hermione, clinging to her more conservative side despite the heat, had only tied up her hair and rolled up her sleeves.

Herbology in a humid, damp greenhouse was certainly not the lake both houses were dying to take a dip in. The Gryffindors had already arranged an early evening 'party' at the lake, approved by the teachers and Dumbledore, and were excited for their last class of the day to end. Not to be outdone, the Slytherins were throwing their own impromptu party alongside them.

Hermione reached the greenhouse just before the distant toll of the castle bell sounded, while Harry and Ron lagged a short distance behind her, having lost most of their motivation to the heat.

"I'm roasting," Ron moaned as he dragged an arm across his forehead. It came off slick with sweat. Harry would normally have been disgusted, but he couldn't complain now; not with the way he himself was sweating. He couldn't even muster up an answer, only grunting in response. His glasses slipped a little further down his sweat-slicked nose, and he absently pushed them back up.

'If this heat doesn't end soon, I'm going to strangle someone,' Harry thought darkly. He never enjoyed the summers particularly, usually preferring the coldness of winter.

They were both the last to straggle into the overheated 'classroom', shortly after Professor Sprout had begun the day's lecture. Ron, who seemed to function slightly better than Harry in the heat, had spotted an open seat near Seamus and had quickly settled down. Harry stood by the door, his gaze sweeping across the mass of students. His heart dropped into his stomach when he realized that there were no more open seats among the Gryffindors. He'd have to sit with the slimy snakes today.

"I'll bet everything in my Gringotts vault that the only seat left will be next to Malfoy," Harry thought as he turned slowly to survey the Slytherin side of the room. He blinked in surprise when he realized that Goyle was occupying two seats on Malfoy's left, and the ever-simpering Parkinson was on his right. Maybe today was actually starting to look up.

That's what Harry thought until he realized there were no seats left in the greenhouse. None. Zero. Zip. Nada.

"What the hell?" he muttered, as Ron turned around and shot him an apologetic look.

'Wow,' he thought, looking around awkwardly. 'This might actually be worse than sitting next to Malfoy. I need to find-'

"Mr. Potter!" Professor Sprout's voice boomed from the front of the room. She was heading down the aisle, and all of the students turned to stare at Harry, who stood alone in the doorway. He groaned inwardly.

"5 points from Gryffindor for your tardiness. Take a seat, I've already started explaining today's assignment."

Harry shifted his bag awkwardly. "Uh, professor? There aren't anymore seats…"

Draco Malfoy cut in before Professor Sprout could answer. "Ha! Potter hasn't got a seat! Of course no one wants to sit next to a disfigured freak!"

"Mr. Malfoy! Kindly watch your language! That is highly-"

"I've got a seat, Malfoy, a very nice one, in fact. You wouldn't know, but I bet you would just love to-" Harry clamped both hands over his mouth, his bag dropping to the ground. The greenhouse was silent; all of the students had disbelieving looks on their faces. Was he about to say what they thought he was?

Harry lowered his hands from his red face and gave a small cough. Professor Sprout broke out of her stupor and began sputtering, "Oh! Oh dear. Um, Mr. Potter, um, why don't you sit at my desk for today? I'll, uh, I'll just, just…" her flustered mind refused to supply her with anymore words, so with that, she simply turned around and returned to the front of the classroom.

* * * * * * * * *

Harry took off right after when he heard the first bell toll, signaling the end of class, but Ron and Hermione managed to catch up with him.

"What was that all about, Harry?" Ron asked, a broad grin on his face.

"I don't know," Harry muttered, picking up his pace. He didn't want to be questioned about what he had said back in the greenhouse, because he wasn't quite sure why he said any of it at all. He tugged at his tie, suddenly feeling suffocated.

"It was very inappropriate, Harry!" Of course, here comes the scolding. "I'm very surprised that Professor Sprout didn't take off any points for it. You're never like…that. What's wrong?" Hermione had a concerned look on her face, and Harry felt too guilty to tell her to leave him alone.

"I don't know, Hermione. It just came out. And what do you mean by 'that'?"

"Well, mate, no one ever took you to be an open pervert. Maybe a closet pervert, at the very most. You always seemed kinda 'prim and proper'. You know, kinda like 'Mione."

"What?!" Harry exclaimed. He didn't want to be 'prim and proper' like Hermione!

"Hey!" Hermione said, offended. Both boys muttered quick apologies, not wanting to be subjected another one of her infamous scoldings. Hermione sighed, "Well, let's go get changed for the party. I could really do with a cool down before dinner."

"Yes!" Ron pumped a fist into the air, apparently having forgotten about the party until now. "Last one back is a rotten flubberworm!"

He took off at a run, leaving Harry and Hermione behind to watch amusedly as he sped past other students, knocking a first year down in his haste to reach the castle. When he was out of sight, Hermione turned towards Harry.

"So, what was that all actually about?"

Harry sighed, "I said I didn't know, Hermione."

"Don't give me that, Harry! What's wrong?"

"Nothing! There's nothing wrong. Normally I can stop myself from saying all these things, but it just popped out," he said, scratching his head. Malfoy was probably going to tease him for it later. He sighed again.

"Stop sighing, Harry. It happens once in a while, don't worry about it. At least you didn't imply anything too promiscuous involving yourself and Malfoy."

"I wanted to," Harry muttered under his breath.

"What?"

Harry looked up, confused. "What?"

"You said something."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did."

"O.K., Hermione. Whatever you say."

"Oh, come on! Cheer up! Now, who's ready for a party?" she cheered.

"You," Harry grumbled.

Hermione huffed. "Fine! Who's ready to be a rotten flubberworm?"

Harry stared at her. "A what? Who?"

"You!" Hermione abruptly shoved Harry. He lost his balance and tumbled to the ground, his legs tangled. An upside-down Hermione laughed and raced up the grassy hill towards the castle, leaving Harry behind in the grass. He rolled off of his back and chased after her with a bark of laughter; maybe a little unwinding was just what he needed.