I am walking down the halls, minding my own business when she comes up to me. She is tall, about one and a half meters, and has long, blonde hair. She is beautiful, with dazzling green eyes and full lips and a lot of curves. She is also a Slytherin and the school slut. Pansy Parkinson.
Behind her came two of her cronies. An Asian girl with short black hair. I heard her name was Zambini or something. Her and her brother came here from Japan. At least, that's where my brother Fred said she was from. She had come into his and George's shop one day, and now all he talks about is her. It's really annoying, quite frankly. She is wearing a skimpy schoolgirl outfit and carrying a bag with a little animated cat on it. She even has these crazy streaks of all different colors in her hair, which I'm sure is against the school dress code. The other girl is also a Slytherin from her robes. She is tall and burly and looks much like the female version of Crabbe and Goyle.
Anyway, as I was saying, I was simply walking to my next class when the three girls approached me. Pansy Parkinson, who was wearing so much makeup I was surprised she could even lift up her head, began talking first. "Well, if it isn't the little Weaselette. I heard you don't talk now, what, too good to talk to us normal people?"
It was about a month into the school year. Word had clearly gotten around that I refused to speak. My teachers were fed up with it, especially Snape. Every time they would ask a question I would merely stare at them. It unnerved them, I could tell, but I found it quite amusing to watch their faces turn red. And in Charms or Defense Against the Dark Arts, I had figured out my own way of saying spells. I don't know how it happened, but if I build up enough energy, I can think the spell in my head, and have it work just as well. Though, it always leaves me feeling weak and drained by the end of class, and sometimes the spells are a bit chaotic and hard to control. And, they don't come out through my wand, but through my hand. I hold my wand, though, for appearances sake. It's weird, I know. It's advanced magic, wandless, voiceless magic, I know that as well. But I'm not planning on telling anyone anytime soon. This is my secret, my special power, and I am going to keep it that way. And besides, in war, any special powers are useful, no matter how small.
I am shaken from my thoughts by a shove to the chest. The impact of my bum with the ground wakes me up the rest of the way, and I glance up to see her laughing with her friends. Gathering my books, I try to walk around the girl, but she steps in front of me. It's not that I really care about being late to a class, especially Snape's Potion's class, which is what I have next; I just don't want to have to deal with this annoying girl any longer.
"Well, aren't you going to say something?" the Zabini girl asks, folding her arms. It turns out it's not spelled with an m before the b, as I always though, if the keychain with her name on it is accurate.
I thought we had already established that I don't speak? I roll my eyes and try in vain to sidestep them again. But the stupid airhead will not give it up.
"What's with all the black, Weasly? Going for one of those weird Muggle styles?" This is Parkinson again. She doesn't like having her spotlight stolen from her.
It's called mourning you idiot. And it is true, I have taken a custom to wearing black. All black. My robes, which were already black, my black shoes, my black bag. And then, I died all my clothes black. A bit drastic you might say, but I don't even have that much clothes. Just about two weeks worth of clothes, which are now all black. And that's my entire wardrobe that I took with me from home. Yep, small, I know. It's not that we are that poor, it's just that I've never been much of one for fashion. But now I find that black quite suits how I feel inside. And I like it.
"I heard your brother went and got himself killed for you? Which one was it, oh yeah, the one that spends every waking moment with dragons. Spent, anyway." That was the other Slytherin girl. The one that acts as the third wheel and usually doesn't think for herself. I don't know her name, so I'll just call her Number Three. I can feel my anger rising. These girls really are airheads if they keep pushing it. I'm clenching my fists, trying with all my might to not punch her lights out. Really, I'm trying. Okay, so maybe I am envisioning my fist connecting with her nose. But only a little. Really.
"It's okay, she's got five others," taunts Parkinson. That does it. That's when I snap. I clench my right fist as tight as I can and swing it back. It hits the little blonde right in the jaw. The little ditz falls to the floor holding her jaw and crying.
That's when Number Three approaches me, ready for a fight. Obviously, her place has been established as the bodyguard. From what my brother told me she's a pretty good fighter. Apparently she heard him making fun of her after class one day and had his lights put out. I put my fists up, one blocking my face and one blocking my stomach. I separate my feet the width of my shoulders, intent on holding my ground. She notices that I'm not going to run away. She seems a bit taken aback that I'm not scared of her, even though she's gotta be one and an eighth meters tall and a year older than me and served as a replacement beater on the Slytherin Quidditch team. Well, I was raised by six older brothers and spent ten of the sixteen years of my life without magic. In that time I learned how to fight dirty. I take that moment of surprise in her eyes to kick at her shin. I don't kick hard enough though, and she doesn't fall over. She throws a punch at my face that I duck just in time. I punch at her stomach clearly in her view, and as she goes to block it, I slam my right fist into her nose. It begins to bleed, making her very angry. She hits me in the right eye before I can block.
I'm momentarily blind from the force of her hit, and I know I will have a black eye in just a few minutes. In that time she kicks me to the floor and jumps on top of me, in the attempts to punch me again. I cover my face with my arm and bring my knee up in her gut, making her roll over. I place my knees on both sides of her and begin to hit her in the jaw repeatedly, trying to ignore the pain in my knuckles, as she pulls my hair.
I hadn't realized it earlier, but the bell has tolled. Students are filing out of the classes. Obviously they have gotten whiff of the fight, for we now have a crowd around us cheering. I feel two strong arms around my middle and I'm being lifted off of the Number Three, thrashing to get back in the fight. The students have stopped cheering and teachers are yelling at them to move to their next classes. I finally stop struggling and am set down. Turning, I'm slightly shocked to see it was Draco Malfoy that pulled me off of his classmate. He is still holding me by the arm, afraid I will try to go back to beating the snot out of the girl. But I'm actually thankful he ended the fight. I was getting tired and wouldn't have been able to hold out much longer.
Snape is running towards me, yelling, his face red. McGonagall as well. They both look shocked and angry at me and the girl. Zabini and Parkinson have disappeared into the crowd. Snape grabs my arm, McGonagall Number Three's, and they drag us off towards Professor Dumbledore's office. I look back at Malfoy and glare. This isn't over between me and him.
I get carted into Dumbledore's office along with the girl (apparently her name is Millicent Bulstrode). Snape throws me in a chair, and McGonagall tries with all her might not to throw Bulstrode, though she couldn't even if she wanted to. Dumbledore is sitting looking tiredly at us. Me, more specifically.
"What happened, Professors?" asks Dumbledore, looking at the two teachers.
"A fight, caused by this one!" Snape yells, pointing at me. "She should be given punishment for the next month. Detention!"
Usually I would argue at the unfairness, but now, I just don't care. They can punish me however they want to, it won't change anything.
"It takes two to tango, Snape." Isn't that a Muggle saying? It sounds somewhat familiar, though I'm not exactly sure what tangoing is. "I highly doubt it was all Miss Weasley's fault," says McGonagall, sticking up for me. Would the lady just let it go? I don't care.
"Minerva is right, Severus. I'm sure this fight is accounted for on both sides." Dumbledore rubs his eyes tiredly before placing his glasses back on. I feel slightly bad for getting in a fight now, adding more to his heavy load. But only slightly.
"Would you girls care to explain to me what happened?" There is silence. And then, Bulstrode speaks up. Her voice is deep and sounds like gravel.
"She….she…just came and-and attacked me, sir!" I look over at her to see she is crying. She glances at me with a smirk. "Honestly! But…do not be too hard on her…it's not her- her fault that she is crazy."
I'm shocked. She always seemed a bit daft to me, but the hag's actually quite a good actress. I snort quite unladylike. But then again, I guess a lady has never beaten up a Slytherin, much less Bulstrode, before, and still maintained grace. The bloody girl is a cunning actress and liar.
"Miss Weasley, do you have any input on the matter?" Dumbledore asks me, in vain. I merely stare at him, my lips sealed.
"Detention for two weeks for both of you. Separate detentions, I don't want to have to deal with more fighting. You're to be watched by a Prefect who will be told in advance of your punishment and fairly carry it out. The Professors are much too busy right now to watch over your detentions. Miss Bulstrode, you are free to go to the infirmary and then to class. Severus, Minerva, you may leave. Classes will be starting in a few minutes. I would like to talk with Miss Weasley alone, please."
The professors leave rather quickly for their old age. I suppose they don't want to be around the insane girl.
"Miss Weasley, would your brother's death have anything to do with your sudden anger?"
I snort once again. My brother's death has to do with everything. It is the reason I choose not to speak anymore. The reason I can barely eat without getting sick. It's probably the cause of the nightmares as well. But those are a different story.
"Would you like to talk about it?"
No.
"Would you like me to help you in any way?"
Not in the least.
Dumbledore sighs. "What would you like Miss Weasley?"
A solid gold toilet I can dunk Bullstrode's head in. Though that's unlikely. My brother back. Even more so. I just shrug again.
He sighs at my shrug. "You know you can come to me whenever you would like to chat? My door is always open." Sorry, isn't going to happen. "You are dismissed to the infirmary. And then, I would like you to return to class."
I walk out of the door with no intentions of going to the infirmary or to class. The grounds seem like the only calm place, the only peaceful place that I can go now. And besides, I fought for these bruises and scars. I want to keep them.
