AN: I'm glad to see that so many of you are enjoying this story. The alerts for this fic have really shot up. I would appreciate if those of you who add this story as a favorite/alert would review as well :) It really is very encouraging for an author to get promising reviews. Especially since I have never read any HP/PP fics myself, this is all very new to me. Anyways, here is the next installment of A Most Unfortunate Twist of Fate, I hope you all enjoy!

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Disclaimer: JRK owns.

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Chapter 4: Of Magic and Mayhem

I suddenly looked down at my plate, gasping for air. My once-numb heart was racing a mile per second. I could feel the heat in my cheeks hold still, rendering myself a very flushed expression. I quickly gathered my belongings, muttering a few words in farewell, and hurriedly darted out of the Great Hall. Once entering the abandoned hallways of the ancient castle, I leaned against a stone wall, trying to catch my breath in haste. I hoped no one had noticed my overtly rushed exit. It was unlike me to seem so flustered, so out of control.

I could not believe my luck. I was falling for Potter, and falling hard. This had never been part of my plan. A temporary seduction had been my only goal, and yet I hear I stood as emotionally unstable as Ginny Weasley. I had not even spoken civilly to Potter since the start of my girlish fascination with him. Now I was even unable to control myself when caught under his gaze. What was happening to me? I was, Pansy Parkinson, serpent queen turned…foolish school girl? It was awful, simply horrifying.

I trudged about the castle, my gallant stride lost in the sudden upheaval of emotions I was experiencing. I found myself climbing the stairs towards the Astronomy Tower. How cliché, I couldn't help but think. It was Hogwart's lovebird haven, if anything. And it seemed I too had conformed and joined the masses whom so infrequently visited the landmark destination. Yet unlike the others, I came here alone, with no one to meet nor anyone to wait for. I gazed out, my eyes drawn by the beautiful view, a soft sigh escaping my lips. Sometimes it was so nice, to be alone, to just soak in the silence.

Later that night I found myself within the rustic walls of the school's library. Only tables away sat Granger and Weasley. I noticed that whilst Granger was hard at work, quickly scribbling down lines to what seemed to be an essay of some sort; the Weasel was aimlessly looking about, occasionally flipping the pages of his textbook whilst sneaking conspicuous glances at his friend's parchment.

I almost snorted aloud, wondering how Ronald Weasley had even made it this far in Hogwarts. If Marcus Flint could be held back for a second run through of 7th year, it was most surprising that Weasley hadn't been held back during his 1st.

I glanced down at my own homework, Defense Against the Dark Arts. I couldn't stand the rubbish; it was surely my least favorite class, second to Divination of course. Even Herbology often proved to be more interesting than what was taught in DADA.

I flipped through the assigned chapter, browsing the topics as I did so. I did not regret declining to stay back at the Slytherin common room along with Daphne and Blaise to work on homework. With all the noise in there, no thanks to the underclassmen, it was a wonder anyone got anything remotely academic done in there. It was only at nightfall or sporadically during the school day that any form of peace could be found in dungeons. I did not blame Granger for making such constant use of the library; it truly was the only place within the castle walls where solace could be found.

An hour and a foot of parchment later I grinned down at my handiwork. Homework had provided a sufficient distraction from the thoughts of Potter which were now ever present in my mind. I skimmed the lines of my essay, making sure I had not made any blatant errors. I smirked upon finishing my review of it, there was not even a single punctuation mark missing. The essay was pristine. I would have Draco look at it later, once he emerged from his sulking; the fair haired Slytherin always had a knack for DADA, as ironic as it sounded.

I glanced about the library; Granger and Weasley were still at their previous table. My heart stopped as I noticed that Potter had now joined them at some point in time, unbeknownst to me. Weasley had long fallen asleep, and was snoring quietly next to his best mates while Potter and Granger were immersed in quiet conversation. Their whispers so soft that I could not even hear the murmur of their voices from where I sat, but only see their lips move as they spoke, signaling their quiet exchange. I could not help but allow myself to watch him slyly from afar. He seemed troubled as his brow furrowed and a subconscious hand raked through his raven hair, momentarily exposing his infamous scar. Granger held a stern expression, a book clasped in her arm against her chest as if in defense. I had always found the mudblood exceptionally irritating, but I could not help but wonder if there was something beyond her stubborn know-it-all personality. Surely Potter could never find friendship in someone so bothersome, but then again he was friends with the dunderhead of a Weasley anyways.

Only minutes later, Granger stood up with her book still in hand, nodding towards Potter as she walked off. I presumed she had left to go return the book to it's a rightful place, good two-shoes as she was. I watched her as she disappeared around the corner, glancing back to where Potter and Weasley still remained. As my gaze returned to its previous destination I noticed that Potter had been staring at me as I had absently watched Granger leave.

I sat stone still, trying me best to hold an indifferent gaze and keep my cheeks from flushing a brilliant shade of red. It was hopeless. I looked down at my rolled up parchment, acting as if I were making sure it had been properly managed. I gulped audibly, in an effort to steady my heartbeat and keep my breathing from getting out of control as it had done earlier that day.

As I fruitlessly attempted to make myself look busy, I heard footsteps approaching in my direction. I didn't dare look up, out of fear. Whoever it was had come to a stop beside my table. All I could see from my dropped gaze was the black of his robes, but the subtle maroon lining was enough of a hint. Either Weasley had approached me in his sleep, or none other than Harry Potter stood before me.

I looked up to meet his gaze.

I almost wanted to let out a nervous giggle. Though his face remained unchanged, Potter's eyes seemed to reflect the same confusion I was feeling. As if he were wondering what drew him to approach a Slytherin of all people.

I arched an eyebrow, in a vain effort to seem nonchalant. "Can I help you?" I asked my gaze unmoving.

"I was…" he began, looking rather uncertain all of a sudden. "I was wondering…" he started again.

Could it be? I wondered to myself in excitement…That Potter liked me too? That he wanted to ask me out? My heart nearly soared out of my throat at the very thought, as absurd as it sounded. I had never imagined in a thousand years that I had so easily sent the message across to him and lived to receive such a ready reply.

"I was wondering…if I could borrow that book," he finally finished lamely. My heart plummeted, and I suddenly felt a bit disappointed…and rather angry. "Pince says that you're using the only available copy," he explained.

I wanted to sneer in disgust. He had raised my hopes for no reason, though it had been my fault for thinking such things. I shut the book, handing it to him, my gaze still as indifferent as ever. I almost felt hurt that our first encounter had been so unmemorable. He had even smiled at me earlier today, and now he stood before me as if none of it had ever happened.

I fumed, as he took hold of the book, turning to return to his seat. As I let go, I noticed a scrap of parchment fall from within his grasp.

"Potter, wait!" I whispered sharply at his retreating figure. The git did not even bother turning around and simply sat down at his table, flipping open the book as soon as he took seat. I could not believe him, acting so blasé with a Slytherin of all people. No one treated Pansy Parkinson like that. Boy-who-lived or not, he would pay for ignoring me.

I gazed at the scrap, which I had previously snatched from the air.

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P,

Higher than the Gryffindor Tower, resides a throng of friends, wizards' closest followers.

Meet me as day becomes night, at their quiet nesting sight.

H.

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My anger melted. I could no longer breathe.

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