A/N: Okay, this fanfiction got deleted which was kind of annoying, especially because I wasn't informed of why. It was only my second fanfiction, so I wasn't actually planning on putting it back up because it was kind of cringey and my grammar was all messed up, but I've had a couple of PMs asking me to put it back up, so I've tried to fix the mistakes, but yeah. I have a feeling that it might've got deleted because of the word 'Bitches' in the title, but to be honest I really don't class that as a swear word. Anyway, I've changed the title on the main title thingy because you know, rules are rules, (even though bitch isn't a swear word) so there you go. I know I left it a bit late to re-upload after it was deleted, but I forgot about it and only just stumbled across the word document so here you go, Snitches, take two.
I don't own Harry Potter.
Snitches, Witches and Boy-stealing Bitches
Chapter one: Owls and Geese and Spiders, oh my.
I would like to make one thing clear. I am not, in anyway, ginger-ist. How could I be? The entirety of my family has the ginger gene. But what seriously annoys me, is when certain members of the family flounce around, sprouting words like 'Auburn' and 'Strawberry blonde'.
For the dim ones amongst you, I am talking about my cousin, Lily Potter. She, like you, is also very dim. Well, it was to be expected, all of that hair-potion was bound to affect her brain someday. Maybe she was born with very few brain-cells. That would explain the incident when she was five and got Grandma's wand stuck up her nose.
I, on the other hand, had the fortune of missing out on the deadly ginger gene; something which I like to remind my family of on occasion, which may be the reason they don't like me. Or, it could be because I'm the first Weasley to be sorted into Hufflepuff for ten generations, or something. Shame on the family my arse, us 'puffs are clearly the best.
I know what your thinking – Hufflepuffs never win the house cup, they never win at Quidditch, they never do anything that particularly exceeds the expectations of anyone. But I'll let you in on something – it's all a ruse. While you Gryffindors and Slytherins are off killing each other and the Ravenclaws are suffocating under a pile of moth-eaten old books, us Hufflepuffs are plotting world domination, and I tell you, we're almost there. In the grand scheme of things, it's relatively good that we stay out of the spotlight. Everyone seems to forget about us, or be all 'Oh yes, Hufflepuffs, they're all warm and smushy and meditate on mats whilst singing songs about tree's and crap'. But, listen carefully, we are not smushy. Nor do we sing to plant-life. I did once try to speak to the Whomping Willow, but only because my cousin James told me that it was really just a lonely, angry little man, cursed for all eternity to live as a tree. He said that the fact I believed him, proved that all Hufflepuffs are stupid. I think that it proved all Hufflepuffs are nice. How many of you would go and talk to the Whomping Willow because you felt awful about a man inside a tree? Not many of you, I'm betting.
The point is, Hufflepuffs shouldn't be underestimated. Hufflepuff housed many of the greatest witches and wizards of our time. For instance, Nymphadora Tonks, who died fighting the dark arts in 'the war' and Suzanne Bones, whom has been named 'most extraordinary potioneer' five years running. Oh, and my favourite, Crystal Bowen, a supermodel and actress, who was on the front of 'Witch Weekly' the other day. I think she's a very good role-model for young witches, now that she's got over her alcohol issues and gambling addiction . . .
"I think that Crystal Bowen is a very good role model for young witches, now that that she's got over her alcohol issues and drug addiction," I said thoughtfully to Annie who was chomping on a slice of toast that was covered in Nutella. She tilted her chocolate-spread covered face to the side, as if she was contemplating. I saw her eyes widen in confusion and then her head snapped upwards again. There was a look of shock on her face as she gingerly tilted her head to the side once more. She erupted with laughter, and we all stared at her, ready to fly her to St Mungo's.
Neva, who was sat next to her, shuffled away from Annie slightly, "What?" she said, arching a blond eyebrow.
Annie tilted her head to the side again, and snorted, burying her head in her hands. She continued to giggle into her palms, incoherent words pouring from her mouth in a language that sounded more mermish than any relatively human dialect.
Annie looked up towards us, tears rolling down her face. She waved in the direction she'd been staring in, hitting a bemused looking Imogen in the face. She began to giggle again, choking on her pumpkin juice. She tried several times to speak, none of which were successful, before she finally spluttered "When you tilt your head to the side, Drake Fawcett looks quite a lot like a goose." She burst into laughter again, her head returning to the table.
Instead of staring incredulously at Annie, like any sane person would, Neva, Imogene and I swivelled towards the Gryffindor table, focused intently at Drake Fawcett and in unison, tilted our heads to the side. The others had already burst out laughing at the sight of Drake's goose-ish-ness. But for the life of me, I couldn't work out what was so goose-ish about his appearance. I was sitting there, goose-gogging at him like a gooseberry, when he turned round and saw me gooseberry-ing him. He looked a little surprised at first, understandably, but then gave me a tentative smile. I blinked and checked behind me, making sure that he wasn't smiling at someone else, and turned back round to return the smile. At that angle though, I could see exactly what Annie had meant about his resemblance to the goose species, and began to laugh rather loudly. Drake turned away, looking rather offended by the fact that I was blatantly laughing at his face.
It was either karma, sods law or Merlin was out to get me, because a second later everyone was laughing at my face instead. That was understandable, though, because my owl had just flown into it.
What you must understand about my owl, Eric, is that he is the reincarnation of Voldemort. Sure, he was perfectly fine when my mum bought him for me, a happy, fluffy little barn owl, nothing out of the ordinary. The only problem is that he detests me with a red hot fiery passion. I am convinced, and I promise that I am not joking one bit, that my owl is under possession by the scariest (and baldest) dark wizard of the century. You know, when Voldy was wondering around in eternal damnation or wherever he is at the moment, and he spotted Eric, flapping along with his cute little owly innocence, Voldemort decided that the only way he could rise again was by living inside my owl. I have, several times, tried to inform the Ministry of this threat, but alas, they do not appreciate the severity of the situation. Their exact words, I believe, were 'Complete and utter bullshit.' But yes, Eric (or Voldemort, either one) seemed to have either a fondness or a hatred for my face, judging by the vicious way that it decided to collide with it.
I crossed my arms and tried to look indignant. Well, as indignant as a slowly reddening tomato could. Annie, Neva and Imogene ducked their heads to hide their hysterical laughter. Imogene surfaced first, stroking Eric who purred, placidly.
"Poor thing," she cooed, stroking under his chin, "I think he's having time of the month issues."
"Imogene," I said slowly, "Eric's a guy. He doesn't have monthly issues. He's just evil!"
"That's very sexist," Imogene said angrily, "And also, you're evil when you have monthly issues, too."
"Yes, she is," agreed Annie. "But thankfully, when she's having her monthlies, Lucy doesn't fly into our faces."
"That is not the point," I said, "The point is, Imogene, that Eric does not have monthly issues. He's a guy, for merlin's sake."
"No he's not" said Imogene stubbornly "He's an owl."
"Yes" I sighed "But he's a guy owl."
"How do you know?" chipped in Neva, "Did you like, check?"
I crinkled my nose in disgust, "No, I didn't check. I am not an owl molester."
"So he might be a girl?" said Neva, "Can we change her name to Erica?"
"He's not a girl," I said, annoyed, "The guy in the shop told me."
"So the guy in the shop is an animal molester, then? I'm pretty sure that's illegal," Annie said.
"I'll tell you one animal I wouldn't mind molesting," Imogene said, her voice laced with suggestiveness.
"Please don't," I said, but she ignored me.
"That goose over there," she nodded in Drake Fawcett's direction, licking her lips. Neva jabbed her in the arm with her elbows.
Annie shook her head, "You don't have a chance, Imogene, didn't you see the way he smiled at Lucy? He totally fancies her."
I raised my eyebrows and gave her a 'stop talking now' look.
"Nah" said Neva, "She'd never go for Drake."
"Thanks Neva," I said, surprised that someone was on my side for once.
She swallowed the last bite of her toast and gave me a look, "Only because you're totally head over heels for Lysander Scamander," she snorted, ducking as I threw a cornflake at her head.
"Don't even try to deny it," smiled Imogene, jutting in, "We all know you're in love with him."
"Am not" I huffed, hiding my head in my hands in despair.
"Talking about Lysander Scamander" said Neva said, peering over my head.
"Lucy" said Annie who was also craning her neck to look over to the Ravenclaw table. "Don't look now, but your bitch of a cousin is totally flirting with the love of your life.
Somehow, I didn't bother to correct her about the 'love of my life' part.
"What," I said, in a hushed whisper, "Okay, just tell me exactly what she's doing, and what he's doing and that she looks like a complete idiot."
"Right" said Annie, sitting back down, "She's pouting like a fish and flicking her hair and pretending that she isn't ginger. Ooh, now she's leaning towards him and doing that pushy in thing with her boobs. She's still pretending that she isn't ginger. He looks surprised. Maybe her hair has blinded him. Ooh, now he's laughing. Probably at her, because she is a pouty, ginger, breasty fish with far too much make-up on. She just nearly flicked her hair in his eye. Now she's doing that 'looking from under the eyelashes thing' that she uses to allure poor, helpless flies into her sticky web."
We looked at Annie, our eyebrows raised.
"What?" she said, "I thought it was a pretty good metaphor."
"Yes, yes," I said exasperated "Well done, your dramatic language skills are astounding. Now, what's he doing?"
"Oh no" said Imogene, answering my question and biting her lip.
"What?" I almost yelled, frightening a few wispy looking first years.
"He's ... looking allured!" she said, panic stricken.
"What?" I said, "No – that isn't possible, he would never be attracted to someone like her!"
Annie, Imogene and Neva looked at my sadly, shaking their heads.
We all knew one thing (and some of us knew more than one thing). Once you'd been allured in Lily's web of stickiness, it was very difficult to escape without having your insides sucked out (and not in a sexual way). Lysander Scamander was very lucky, in a way. He had outside help. We would save him, or break our nails trying.
We got to potions early to try and get the seats closest to the one and only, Professor Grey. There is no way to describe Grey other than delicious. You just had look at him to get all jelly legged and light-headed. He's mysterious and brooding and poetic. Well, I don't know if he writes poems, but he looks like the kind of person who would. He just has the eyes of poet, if the eyes of the poet were dark brown and slightly flecked with a butterscotch gold. Not that I've noticed, or anything.
Sadly, there was already a queue forming outside the door to the dungeons; a queue that consisted of about a dozen giggling girls. We weren't a part of the giggling girls group, obviously. We were much cooler than that. We sniggered.
So, for the entire first two periods I watched Professor Grey go on about the properties of Goblin-blood, or something like that. I saw his perfect lips move and I heard the caramel texture in his perfect voice, but he could have been reciting poems about his undying love for me and I wouldn't have noticed. I was too busy thinking about ways that I could stop Lysander Scamander getting smushed by the vicious, hairy pincers of the evil, life-sucking Lily Spider.
Then it hit me. The only way I could stop the smushing was by making Lysander fall for someone else, someone better than Lily Potter.
And who's better than Lily Potter, you may ask? Well, incidentally, a lot of people, but (probably) none more so that myself.
A/N: Bahaha oh my god, if I ever write anything as rubbish as what I had to just read through and change again, I give you all permission to throw virtual tomatoes at me. I really don't think it's any better even with the changes, but never mind. Here it is, please don't kill me.
Also, please review, especially if you favourite it, because people favourite my stuff and I'm just like WHY WHY WHAT CONFUSED WHAT IS THIS FAVOURITE WHAT WHAT ASDFGHJKL. Uhm yes, so no favourites without reviews, please.