January 17th, 1977
Great Hall
4:20PM
I take it back.
I really, really take it back.
Because apparently writing in a journal has given me enough good luck for Professor Sprout – who, might I say, bloody hates me, since I accidentally made a bubotuber plant explode in fourth year and covered her and everyone else in the pus – to partner me with Tate Wood for the entire term.
I repeat: Tate Wood.
Tate Wood as in one of the fittest blokes in our year, besides the Marauders (who, let's face it, are bloody gorgeous and entirely more loathsome because of it), and also one of the only ones who has a brain somewhere else but hanging between his legs. I mean, yeah, it's out on the quidditch pitch, or maybe locked away in the box of quidditch supplies in Madam Hooch's office, but it's not where everyone else's is, which makes him incredible. And infinitely nicer than all the other blokes, as can be seen in our eloquent conversation during class.
"I hate Herbology." It wasn't the best conversation starter I'd heard someone come out with, but it was one, and this was Tate effing Wood, in case you'd forgotten, so I hardly minded.
"Gonna warn you now; I'm shit at it."
"'Warn' me?"
"Warn you. Back in second year I accidentally ripped a mandrake's roots out, and Sprout's never really forgiven me."
Word vomit, thank you for your appearance.
There were definitely infinitely more ladylike ways to go about this conversation, and by the amused look Lily was shooting me from her place next to Rory Carmichael, she knew it too.
"Oh yeah. You're that girl who made the bubotuber explode, ain't you?"
I groaned. I would forever be known as the bubotuber girl, it seemed, which is only marginally better than mandrake girl because it still sounds like some sort of STD.
"What? No. That was my dear friend Lily Evans, Tate, don't tell me you're forgetting."
In truth, I'd only really had about two conversations with him prior. But he'd always seemed like a nice sort, and the fact that he was drop-dead gorgeous didn't hurt, either. But it also meant that no, I could not embarrass myself in front of him further. (You can throw your best friend under the bus, right? I mean, 'chicks before dicks' doesn't stand here?)
Lily was glaring at me.
"Lily? Lily's been getting an O in Herbology since first year, Jill."
So he knew my name.
I might've melted into a puddle right then and there. Because shit did my name sound good in that accent.
"... Marlene?"
Marlene, in contrast, had not taken Herbology for NEWT. I was only doing it because I'd lost a bet, and Marlene Ann McKinnon is a vicious bitch. The fact that I'd even gotten onto the course (with my measly Acceptable in the OWLs) was a miracle in and of itself, and involved a lot of buttering up of Professor Sprout and an outrageous story about Herbology being my true calling in life.
"McKinnon?" This cute little smile was on his face now, flashing those gorgeous dimples and his straight white teeth. "C'mon, Jill, we both know you're only tryna cover up your embarrassment."
Being me (that is, a girl with blood vessels like fucking volcanoes when I'm embarrassed), I decided the mature thing was to turn around to try and hide my face. Which meant looking at the class today; Venomous Tentacula.
"You're effing kidding me."
Tate laughed, and it was a nice sound. Not at all like that horrid barking thing Sirius Black does.
Probably why he had half the girls of Hogwarts drooling after him, really. He didn't laugh like an imbecile. God, why hadn't Marlene gone out with him, instead of the manskank of Hogwarts? Why, why, why?
Actually, it was probably a good thing she hadn't dated Tate Wood, because that means I'm still allowed to fancy the pants off of him without Marlene getting angry and/or jealous. Good on ya, Marls.
It was about halfway through the lesson, though, that my luck ran out when the Venomous Tentacula got particularly handsy. (Though not as handsy as it was rumoured Keith Abrams had gotten with Tabatha Blake at the Hufflepuff welcome-back party a couple of days ago, but I'll tell you about that later). Now, I might hate Herbology, but I pay attention in it. I'm not an idiot; I know the plants are dangerous. So I'd sorta half-listened to Professor Sprout telling us about Venomous Tentacula being dangerous and poisonous and toxic, and when it grabbed me— well. I was scared, okay? That means I'm allowed to scream and yell at fittie Tate Wood to 'get it off, get it off me now!'
If there was ever any chance that he was gonna ask me out, I've dashed it thoroughly.
Bloody Venomous Tentacula.
January 17th, 1977
Great Hall
4:24PM
Have also realised that I've already broken my New Year's Resolution not half a month into 1977.
Bullocks.
You're bloody boring to write in, journal, s'not my fault.
January 18th, 1977
Library (Free period!)
1:15PM
Lily and I are in the library to 'study'.
(Yes, Lily, the quote marks were necessary).
- Lily feels the need to defend her honour as reigning queen of the books by saying that yes, she is studying, but that getting me to do so is impossible and therefore not to be attempted.
Lily will feel my book in her face if she doesn't shut up.
Anyway.
I'm starting to think that I'm never gonna get the hang of Potions. I mean, I passed my OWL – Slughorn accepts Es, after all, and after my abysmal performance in his class the years prior, I'm sure my somewhat capable hands exceeded his expectations thoroughly – but that was only after Lily had ruthlessly grilled both Marlene and I for months. I wasn't a natural, like Lily, or decent with practice, like Marlene; I was bloody horrendous.
Anyway, at the end of last year, we came up with a trading system; Lily would attempt to teach both of us Potions – 'attempt' being the key word here – and Marlene would help us in Transfiguration – help that we both sorely needed – and I wouldn't tutor them in anything, since it we were in an unspoken agreement that I couldn't be trusted to teach the right things or even know what I was talking about.
Anyway, I'm pants at teaching – and learning, and following instructions, and— most things – and Lily has a short temper and Marlene can't handle stress, so study sessions usually turned into drinking sessions that Lily firmly denies involvement in (she's still reading over my shoulder).
Anyway, so Lily's trying to teach me Potions and getting very frustrated with me. Not my fault she can't bloody teach (a wobbly line continues on the parchment for a couple of inches)
I mean. Lily's a great teacher. A great, non abusive teacher, who is merely burdened with idiotic students.
Yep.
January 18th, 1977
Gryffindor Common Room
2:35PM
Had another run-in with Sirius Black today.
That boy is a fucking problem.
I do not know what Marlene saw in him.
I mean, besides his unspeakable hotness and those effing eyes. He's disgustingly pretty, really. Boys should not have looks as overwhelming as their levels of prattishness. It's got to be illegal.
Anyway, so it started with a prank. Me and Amos were on our way to Defense, 'cause we both take the same class, and Marlene had just left to head for Transfiguration, when my foot gets stuck in a trick step.
I'm not gonna lie and say this is a rare occurrence.
But anyway, so I'm stood there with my foot trapped in the bloody step, when I feel something moving under it. And poor Amos has been trying to get me out for a while by now, so he flips his shit when I start screaming about something touching my foot and bugs and beetles and how the house elves are slacking – which they are, okay, don't even try and tell me otherwise! – and he's trying even harder to get me out. Of course, because Amos Diggory is a ninny – but a pretty ninny, I'll give him that – all he manages to do is make it worse, if that were even possible. And the books in my arms are beginning to make my muscles ache, and I'm really late to Defense, which sucks because it's the hardest of my NEWT classes and I'm so shit at it I need all the help I can get (bloody miracle I got the grades for it, I swear), and he's fannying about pushing my foot in further.
C'mon, I can't be the only one who'd yell at him in that situation.
Which means that yes, I did yell at him, and he gets this proper annoyed look on his face like I was this great inconvenience to him and I was out to ruin his perfectly-planned life – please, I have better things to worry about than making Marlene and him name their firstborn after me (although Jillian Diggory has a fine ring to it, I must say) – and says, "I don't have to help you, y'know."
Except he did, because he's a Hufflepuff and he'd be breaking a law of the universe if he didn't.
I didn't say that, though.
"You do if you want to keep telling your mates you're dating Marlene McKinnon."
He looked like he was sucking on a lemon at that.
So there I am, with a possible rat/bug/beetle/Hagrid's pet fondling my foot, my best friend's freaking out boyfriend, and a bunch of heavy Defense books.
So when my foot comes free – with a squelch, may I add, an effing squelch – and brings with it a loud bang and a flash of light, forgive me if I, in my disorientation, allow my heavy, heavy Defense books to pull me down.
See, this doesn't sound so bad, does it?
I fell over, big deal.
Yeah, big fucking deal when you knee your best friend's boyfriend in the balls.
Amos, groaning, is clutching his poor balls over his robes – I'd really done a number on them – and swearing, but I don't bother looking at him because a) I don't want to stumble over an apology, b) he annoys me anyway and c) I'm a little preoccupied by the sudden lack of hair on my head.
All of it. Gone.
I spent fucking years growing out that mess so it could be somewhat presentable, and it was lying on the floor around me in thick clumps of dull brown.
I didn't want to believe it, and it took the feel of the smooth skin of my bald head – never ever touch a bald head, okay, it's effing vile – under my hands for me to believe it.
"MY HAIR!" I'm full-out screaming by now, horrified and trying to think of some sort of spell that can bring my hair back. I know loads of cosmetic spells, but they're all written on the sheet of paper on my bedside table. I can only remember how to dye hair, or straighten it, not how to fucking grow it back.
"MY BALLS!" Amos is yelling too, believe me. Bear in mind that this is in the Main Staircase, where anyone can hear us.
So, yes, everyone came pouring out of their classrooms to see what was going on. And I can't stop screaming because my hair is gone, and Amos can't stop yelling because I kneed him in the balls (seriously, Amos, get some perspective here; my hair is gone, and Marlene never wanted kids so you don't need to fucking worry about banging her against a wall or in a broom cupboard when all my bloody hair is gone)
Most people are laughing, and it's as my eyes fall on the Marauders – Remus apologetically amused, Peter howling with laughter, James leaning heavily on him as laughs shake his shoulders and Black wiping tears from his eyes – that I know. I know it was them.
One minute I'm sitting on the floor, mourning the hair I'd brushed everyday for as long as I could remember, the next I'm in front of Black, yelling and screaming curses – both words and spells – as Marlene and Lily rush into the crowd. Neither tries to hold me back. Marlene, for one, is far too busy triple-checking that her boyfriend is still of use to her, and Lily is focused on trying to stop the laugh I can see in her eyes from escaping.
"Black! You fucking arsehole, you'd better run!"
He didn't.
Which isn't surprising, really, because Lily's told me more than once that I'm really just like an overgrown kitten when I'm angry. Thanks, Lils, thanks so much.
So, in retaliation, I yelled, "Anteoculatia!"
Yes, I made Sirius Black sprout antlers.
No, it did not make me feel better.
Well. Maybe a little bit.
But my firing at Sirius led to a full-out duel, and it's a well-known fact that I'm shit at those, so I ended up covered in painful boils – eugh, my skin's prickling just at the memory – and with a rather odd tail swinging from between my legs.
Not— not that between my legs. Sirius Black did not turn me into a man, I promise.
Although, I'll never forget the sight of him with a bleeding sardine hanging from his left nostril. It'll be a patronus-worthy memory, I'm sure, if I ever manage to produce one.
... God, but I hate him!
Because of him, I'm stuck with a month – a whole effing month – of detentions, and not a single hair on my body.
Mhmm, I looked in a mirror. Gone. Poof. No eyebrows, no leg hair, nothing. Nada. Zilch.
I mean— at least Pomfrey managed to get rid of his antlers! She healed me up nice and quick, vanished my tail with pursed lips, somehow managed to stop bogey-covered sardines blowing out of Sirius' nose, but regrowing hair? Oh no, she can't do that.
Lily's lent me this gorgeous scarf she got on her holiday to Milan two summers ago to cover my head with, which is an upside, I s'pose. Marlene seemed torn between hating me for kneeing her boyfriend in the man-area or loving me for hexing the bloke who's been bothering her boyfriend for a month. She chose the latter when I walked into the dorms with Lily's bloody scarf over my head, utterly miserable. She says this is 'punishment enough'. Vindictive bitch.
Of course, Lils and Marlene are being great about it. I've watched Sirius take a tumble down the stairs twice today because of a tripping jinx sent from either of them, and they've been badmouthing him all day while force-feeding me chocolate.
Well. Not force-feeding...
Shut up, okay, I'm bald, I'm allowed to break my diet.
The moral of this story? Sirius Black is a dick. He's a dick and I hate him and I have no idea how I could've found him attractive ever.
Arsehole.
January 18th, 1977
Great Hall
9AM
Wasn't gonna go to class today.
Forgot that I have a teacher's pet for a best friend.
Fucking hate her.
January 18th, 1977
Divination Tower
11AM
It's 11AM and I'm still bald.
This sucks.
Hair should grow back a lot quicker, if you ask me.
On top of the frequent joking from my classmates – wankers, the lot of 'em – Professor Horsfall is under the impression that my recent headgear is a sign, and that my scalping has made me the new Oracle.
Load of horseshit, but she's praising me left and right, so I'm not gonna say no.
God, I wish I'd passed Transfiguration. Most places only took people with at least five NEWTs, and I'd only gotten the grades for five classes, so I'd been stuck with a bunch of ones I bloody hated (well, and Herbology, which I loathed but didn't really count as a NEWT, since I was only taking it because the odds were not in my favour about how long it would take Verity Hopkirk – Mary MacDonald's surprisingly slutty best friend – to get over her recent boyfriend).
Anyway, Horsfall's getting on a bit now, so after she'd told us what to do and how to do it, she'd collapsed in her chair and picked up a copy of what looked like last month's Witch Weekly, though the splashes of paint on the cover that seemed to cover every surface in her classroom made it difficult to tell.
Up until about ten minutes ago, Marlene and I were pulling faces from across the classroom, but then she fell asleep. This class damages the brain, I tell you.
So it's just me, a deck of tarot cards and a £150 scarf wrapped around my head.
This sucks.
January 18th, 1977
Detention
7:30PM
Black's late.
Black is late to a detention that I am forced to take part in because of him.
Gonna kill him.
With James' broom.
Serves James right for laughing at my baldness. Slimy git.
The Marauders are still pricks, I've decided. Never gonna forgive them. Not even Remus, who couldn't hurt a fly if it killed his entire family and poked him in the eye.
Bloody Black.
Where is he?
What the fuck is he—
Oh.
He's here.
Fuck.
And so it begins.
disclaimer: i do not own harry potter, which belongs to j.k. rowling, but i do own the mess that is jillian chadwick.
so, hope you like jill so far. her first month back at school has certainly been an eventful, swearing-filled one. anyway, thank you lovelies for the review and the follows and the favourites, keep em coming?
also, this chapter is just for you, turquoise-eyelashes, since you asked for another one tonight and i'm three ahead :)
