KICK ME

The dining hall was overflowing with warm laughter and chatter as students eagerly devoured the Halloween feast. Although I usually liked eating at a more secluded time, either at the very end or beginning of the allocated meal times, I had business to do. Avoiding all eye contact, I walked quickly through the tables, my hand slipping into my pocket as I neared the Gryffindor table, which was situated between the hall's entrance and the Slytherin table.

I spotted McLaggen's curly hair and altered my course slightly. I slowed almost imperceptibly as I pressed two vials of sobering draught into the pocket of his robe. As I was about to pass him, however, he grabbed onto my arm.

"Oi! Thorne!" he slurred.

I froze, my eyes wide. Judging by the heavy scent of firewhiskey wafting from his robes, he'd obviously decided to start the Halloween festivities early. Luckily, his action hadn't drawn any attention - everyone was too busy eating - but if it continued, it was sure to attract interest. I glanced nervously at the Headmaster's table, where the teachers were laughing and chattering amongst themselves.

"McLaggen, let go of me," I hissed quietly. I mentally took stock of the contents of my pockets; I had a vial of Essence of Aphrodite that I still needed to deliver to Yaxley and a preserved segment of dragon liver that I was planning on examining later. Neither would help in this case. If I could use my wand -

I set my jaw. I couldn't use my wand. When would I finally accept that?

McLaggen shook his head. "No, man, you almost burned my skin off!" he shouted, and to my horror his voice had risen, attracting the attention of several Gryffindors. Their eyes landed on the Slytherin badge on my chest, which might as well have been a "KICK ME" sign.

The bloke sitting next to him, a burly boy with long brown hair, was looking at me with particular animosity. I scanned the surrounding faces, my heart sinking when I couldn't see a single friendly face. Due to inter-House prejudices, I only supplied seven Gryffindors, and I could see none of them now.

I swallowed. "McLaggen, if you do not let go of me, I will cut off your supply," I warned quietly. If I could reach into his pocket, maybe I could retrieve the sobering draught and throw it into his face. He would never risk losing my supply sober. I tried maneuvering myself closer, reaching my hand towards his pocket -

He grabbed my other hand immediately, and I cursed his reflexes.

"Sorry, Thorne, I don't get with Slytherins!" he exclaimed, winking clumsily.

"Slytherins" drew the attention of the rest of the Gryffindor table and, to my dismay, the Slytherins, who were arguably a greater threat.

McLaggen was now jerking my arms around as his voice rose in volume. He was clearly enjoying the attention. "This girl tried burning my skin off in Potions!"

He was getting dangerously close to revealing my whole charade. I chanced a look at the Head's table, my stomach sinking when I saw that even Slughorn had stopped eating to eye the display curiously.

Valencia Parkinson stood deliberately at the Slytherin table, her pretty face twisted into a disdainful sneer. "McLaggen, you're pathetic. Let her go."

Merlin. This was rapidly becoming a full-blown Interhouse skirmish; why weren't the professors stopping it? I twisted my head, looking back at the table at the far end of the room. Three Slytherins had maneuvered to the Hufflepuff table and had begun a loud fight with two first year Hufflepuffs with impressive efficiency, thus occupying the professors' attention.

Bloody hell. I looked back at Valencia. She nodded at me, her scarlet lips curling into a conspiratorial smirk.

I cursed again. This was drawing far too much attention.

My arms were beginning to burn; although I wasn't as short as Lucy, I was still slightly shorter than average, and McLaggen towered almost a full foot over me.

McLaggen's mate stalked forward, abandoning his pumpkin pasties, and drew his wand on Valencia.

"Parkinson, stay out of this. It's none of your business," he snarled.

Valencia arched an elegant, dark brow. "Your mate's attacking a Slytherin. I'd say this falls very much within the reign of Slytherin business," she sneered. You could say what you liked about Slytherin cowardice; when it came to defending one of our own, we were staunchly united. Of course, it helped that I'd provided Valencia with a steady supply of Dreamless Sleep for years without question.

Their interaction had distracted McLaggen and, sensing an opportunity, I wrenched myself away from him. The sudden movement sent me sprawling backwards into the Gryffindor table, and I let out a strangled cry when the hard wood jabbed into the small of my back.

Merlin. This had gone terribly wrong. I considered crawling under the table and hiding there until the chaos subsided, but I feared I'd be kicked.

I looked towards the opposite end of the room; the Slytherins - I recognised two of them as customers, Thorfinn Rowle and Evan Rosier - were now levitating the Hufflepuffs by their ankles.

Behind me, the argument had escalated as more and more Gryffindors and Slytherins became involved. Soon, even the blatant bullying of Hufflepuffs wouldn't distract the professors from the brewing Gryffindor-Slytherin conflict.

It was time to make my escape. Gathering my courage, I plunged underneath the scarlet and gold tablecloth, crawling on my hands and knees down the length of the table.

Once the density of feet (and smashing plates) had lessened, I cautiously crawled out. My robes were stained with several different varieties of pasties and now reeked of nutmeg in addition to my usual faint eau de sulphur (brewing potions was not the cleanest of occupations).

A hand appeared in the center of my vision, and I looked up to see vaguely familiar clear yellow-green eyes. My eyes dropped to the slim red and gold tie tied loosely around the man's white collar, and I recoiled immediately.

Ignoring his offered hand, I scrambled to my feet and, pausing only to throw a quick glance over my shoulder (Dumbledore had thrown a shield charm between the two Houses, and Parkinson was stubbornly throwing hexes at the blue surface), ran unnoticed out of the double doors.

xxxxx

The next day, I found myself penning yet another horribly incorrect Potions essay in the library. Slughorn had assigned a simple potion analysis, this one being an examination of the addictive properties of most cheering draughts. I was feeling particularly rebellious - perhaps it was the result of the prior encounter in the dining hall - and was sorely tempted to write that I'd already managed to isolate and negate most of the effect with Euphoria #1.

The seat next to mine scraped against the floor as a tall boy slid into it.

It was the bloke from before - the sandy haired one with the scar.

"What do you want?" I demanded, scanning the library furtively for any eavesdroppers. If any of Lestrange's crew saw me speaking with one of the most Gryffindor-y of Gryffindors, I was doomed. Thankfully, this late - or early, I supposed - the library was all but deserted, and I spotted only Hufflepuffs, who looked too panicked over their Charms paper to pay much attention. Still, the whole situation was troublesome; I'd tried very hard to remain unnoticed, even by members of my own House. Why was this Gryffindor approaching me?

To my surprise, he dropped a familiar, leather-bound book onto the oak table. My hand reached automatically to take it, but I froze just as quickly.

"Why are you returning this?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.

The bloke sighed. "It didn't feel right to keep it from you," he said quietly. "Besides, it's not like we could understand anything inside."

He looked at me expectantly, his eyes gleaming in the glow of my candle.

I stared. "Are you expecting a medal? Congrats, you weren't as big of an arse as you could have been? You stole it. You don't deserve any gratitude," I said angrily.

My temper billowed, and this time the rage was welcome - how dare he waltz in like he was some kind of hero? He had done nothing. Anyone could offer a hand or return a stolen book.

My hands tightened around the edge of the table, the smooth oak wood digging into my palms. I didn't know him well enough to choose the right words, but I was sure I'd be able to wound him anyway. I'd go after his friends, say that he was betraying them or that he was a coward - Gryffindors often reacted poorly to any insult to their supposed courage.

A loud, braying laugh broke through my incensed thoughts. Lucy. I looked automatically towards the source of the sound, my temper dissipating as I saw my sister sticking quills in her hair and, I assumed, performing her best imitation of a chicken for a slim, pretty girl with white-blonde hair.

She must have felt my eyes on her, for she turned, the quills dropping from her pale hair, and waved when she saw me. Then she saw the bloke sitting next to me, and her eyes widened.

I hurriedly turned back to the source of trouble and muttered, "Actually, forget what I said. Thanks."

Then, hastily scooping up my experiment log and shoving it into my bag, I wrenched myself from my seat and walked quickly out of the library.

As I stormed through the corridors, a gaggle of giggling girls approached me.

"Willa Thorne?" they asked.

I paused, shooting them an impatient look. "What?" I snapped.

The one in front, a strawberry blonde with large, bright blue eyes, blinked. "We heard you sell Amortentia," she whispered, excitement gleaming in her eyes.

My scowl deepened. "I don't sell Amortentia. I sell Essence of Aphrodite."

The girl exchanged glances with her posse. "Well, does it do the same thing?"

I considered hitting them with a fast-acting sleeping draught, but before I could seriously weigh the possible ramifications, the girl rummaged in her bag before triumphantly withdrawing a handful of shining galleons.

"We can pay," she continued.

I paused, considering the glinting coins. Those could pay for the Doxy eggs I needed to complete Euphoria #2.

Grabbing the girl's wrist, I tipped the coins into the pouch I kept for business transactions and discretely activated the small device in my pocket.

"Name, House, and year?" I inquired, flipping open my log to the love potions section.

"Meredith Thomas. Gryffindor. Fifth year."

Ah, a Gryffindor. That was rare - I had few Gryffindor clients to begin with and even fewer since the whole dining hall debacle. Still, I wasn't going to turn down good business. I recorded the name and House before snapping the log closed.

"This is so exciting! I'll - we'll - finally get Si-"

I held up a hand, silencing her eager gushing. "No names." The less I knew, the better I could plead innocence if they got caught.

"I'll arrange a drop off of three Essences of Aphrodite in your dorm by the end of the month; it takes time to brew, and an incomplete brewing will result in the immediate death of the recipient. Put a strand of your hair and the intended target's in the potion to activate it. Do not use all three at once - at least not on the same person. Unlike Amortentia, it will not result in obsession. You will notice a gradual increase in attention and affection. The effects last two weeks, so this quantity will be enough for six weeks. And, remember, if you disclose the source of the potions to anyone, I will ruin you."

Meredith blinked at the last bit, clearly not certain if I was joking or not.

I smiled blankly before leaning in conspiratorially. "Meredith Thomas, if you cross me, you will wish you never attended Hogwarts. I control more than you can ever imagine," I whispered. Then, leaning back, I said primly, "Nice doing business with you."

I left the Gryffindors to their planning, humming softly to myself as I walked back to the Slytherin Dungeon.

The Slytherin Common Room, while not as homey as the Hufflepuff Basement or Gryffindor Tower, was the perfect spot for business transactions. It was there that I'd proven myself a worthy opponent. When I was first Sorted into Slytherin, my parentage had caused a slew of nasty remarks. I'd eventually stopped the attacks with a combination of well-concealed Pompion Potions and bribes of skin care and sobering potions.

I slid into my usual spot on the couch closest to the door, propping my feet against the elegant mahogany coffee table.

Opening my log book, I added "begin brewing Essence of Aphrodite" to my list of assignments for tonight's lab session.

A seventh year with greasy dark hair slid next to me, gazing at me with sullen black eyes.

I closed my book and eyed the boy carefully. Severus Snape was the only student at Hogwarts who could potentially pose a serious threat to my business. Snape was - admittedly - extremely talented at brewing Potions and, although I'd never gone head to head with him (not that I knew what form that contest would take, as, well, how did one compete with Potions?), I knew he possessed a comparable skill level. Luckily, he'd never shown any interest in opening his own potions business, instead choosing to concentrate his efforts in pursuing his Death Eater ambitions and, more secretly, a pretty Gryffindor seventh year.

"What do you want, Snape?" I asked finally.

He shrugged. "Still wasting your time with love potions?" he said dryly, nodding towards my log book. I kept my face blank, making no move to conceal the book; the more attention I drew to it, the more intriguing it would seem.

Instead, I shrugged loosely. "It pays for my other experiments," I said.

His eyes gleamed, and I immediately regretted my words; I guarded my endeavours vehemently, and I did not want Snape of all people sniffing around.

"Do these other experiments possibly involve helping the Dark Lord's cause?" he asked.

I narrowed my eyes. "Yaxley's already approached me about that," I said shortly.

Snape blinked, shifting slightly. I spotted a reddish stain mottling his sallow cheeks. Ah, so he wasn't quite in the inner circle yet. He was probably hoping to endear himself by roping me in.

"Why don't you provide the potions? I hate to admit it, but you're almost as good as I am," I said.

He scowled. "Almost as good?"

I shrugged. I actually had no idea whether I was any better, but I couldn't let Snape know that.

Finally, he looked away, muttering, "I don't have your established infrastructure or the means to mass produce the potions. Besides, I help the Dark Lord in other ways. My talents are more diverse."

I stifled a worried frown. What did he mean by "more diverse"? Had he guessed at my inability to cast spells? I'd kept my failures closely hidden, as my poor grades in Potions served to mask my natural incompetence in all my other subjects. As long as my Housemates believed I was purposefully choosing to remain behind in every one of my classes to avoid detection, I was safe.

"What talents?" I asked casually.

He looked at me, his hooked nose jutting proudly in the air. "Did you see Potter's knickers last night?"

His what? I hadn't even met the bloke until yesterday; how would I have seen his knickers?

Snape was looking at me oddly. "Remember? In the dining hall?"

Oh. Oh. As a Slytherin, I should have stayed for the duration of the skirmish, especially considering that I had been the impetus for the whole conflict.

"Yes, of course," I lied smoothly. "Brilliant, really. I assume you're the one responsible?"

Snape nodded, his mouth curling into a satisfied smirk. "Yes, I invented that spell myself. You have to say Levicorpus and wave your wand like so," he said, demonstrating the movement.

I nodded, watching his movements with exaggerated care. Obviously, I wasn't about to be casting this spell any time soon, but perhaps I could use the information later.

Satisfied that I'd shown enough admiration, Snape got to his feet.

He turned slightly, saying, "Remember, if you change your mind-"

I nodded. "I'll let you know," I said, keeping my voice void of any inflection.

I waited until he'd vanished up the staircase leading to the boys' dormitories before carefully recording Snape's spell in the log book. I might be able to sell the information at a later date.

The Common Room was rapidly clearing as students headed towards the Quidditch pitch. I was about to leave as well (not for Quidditch, of course, but to check on my latest batch of Numbing Balm) when a slim form slid into the seat beside me.

I turned, my face carefully expressionless as I observed Valencia Parkinson's casual repose.

"Yes?" I asked.

Valencia studied her nails. They were painted a rich, dark red-purple and contrasted nicely with her pale, elegant hands.

"So, I notice you left the dining hall yesterday," she said, just low enough that only I could hear.

I stiffened. "I couldn't risk drawing more attention to myself," I said stiffly, watching her warily from the corner of my eye. I didn't trust anyone other than Lucy, but I was even more vigilant when it came to dealing with my Housemates. I didn't doubt that any one of them would eagerly take over my business if they discovered my recipes or sensed any weakness.

"I figured that was it. It couldn't have been unwillingness to support your Housemate, of course. That would be foolish, considering all of Slytherin House was willing to risk expulsion to defend you," she said lightly, picking at nonexistent lint on her soft cashmere sweater.

I arched a brow. "Of course not," I murmured. "That would imply disloyalty, and Merlin knows a disloyal Slytherin is not a Slytherin at all."

She looked at me finally, fixing me with a shrewd gaze. "Indeed," she said.

She smiled abruptly, nudging my leg with her bare foot.

"Come on, Willa. Smile. You're not under interrogation," she said, not unkindly.

I rolled my eyes. "I never smile," I said.

She nodded, the picture of severity once more. "That's what I like about you," she said. "You know how to get things done." She uncurled herself from the couch gracefully. "You coming to the Quidditch game?"

Shaking my head, I said, "No, I have a timepoint to make."

I waited until she left before letting out a long breath. I was never quite sure where I stood with her; sometimes Valencia acted like a friend (albeit a very dangerous one), and at other times I was convinced her life's mission was to bring me down.

I surveyed my once-private couch, sighing inwardly. It looked like I needed to find another place to rest; two unwanted visitors in the span of an hour was two too many.

AN: Thanks for reading! Let me know what y'all think :)